I'm Feeling Lucky
by BrittWitt16
Summary: Emily Terrell is not a stranger to Google Headquarters. She's practically spent her whole life there. But growing up changes everything. This summer, the staff's decided that if Emily wants to stick around, she's going to have to make herself useful, co-mentoring one of the teams interning at the company. And she can't think of a worse way to spend her summer. Stuart/OC
1. Chapter 1

"So, do you come here often?"

You'd think that, in an office building full of certified geniuses and supposedly charismatic employees, someone would be able to come up with a better pick-up line to use on a girl. But no. It was probably the sixth time I'd heard it that summer, and about the twenty-eighth total time in my life. The problem was, of course, that everyone thought they were being clever, breaking out a dusty, old classic that was supposedly out of use. Really all they were doing was wearing the phrase out even more, turning it from bland and uncreative to downright repulsive.

Thankfully, it wasn't the only thing I'd ever heard. If I were being subjected to nothing but ancient pick-up lines every morning, I would have stopped drinking my coffee in the first floor lounge years ago. There were a handful of chemistry jokes, a couple tech puns, which were all to be expected when frequenting the headquarters of one of the most powerful web and technology companies in the world. The best I'd ever heard had been something along the lines of, _"Wow, are you Google Search? Because I'm feeling lucky."_ Unfortunately, that gem had been the brainchild of a spunky blonde girl from the New York Institute of Technology, who was admittedly gorgeous, but not what I was looking for in a guy. I'd befriended her anyway, until her internship had ended without an offer of employment. Then it was wordlessly back to New York City for her, and back to summers suffering the seemingly ceaseless sea of desperate, hormonal, uncreative interns for me.

That led me right up to that moment. A bright morning in sunny California, where I was sitting alone at a small table in the café, attempting to enjoy a coffee and some online article about wine sales in some kind of peace and quiet. But of course, Intern Arrival Day was never peaceful or quiet in Google headquarters. The fresh victims were all buzzing around in brightly colored swarms, yapping to each other about their test grades and academic awards, and just why they felt they were qualified for the jobs they were so desperate to obtain. Everyone was looking to impress, to find a niche of useful people and dazzle their peers with their oh-so-original jokes or pick-up lines or talents or whatever the hell else they could come up with. They all wanted a foothold. And as someone who looked calm and collected, like they were at least confident if not already someone important, I seemed to be attracting a lot of attention.

I was exhausted, and had been trying to direct lost interns and answer their questions politely all morning. So by the time this hotshot intern sauntered up looking to win some kind of advantage? My patience was already running thin.

I slowly raised my eyes from my laptop, looking up into the boy's face as he shifted nervously on his feet next to the table. He was exceptionally average. Sandy blonde hair, dark brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across his slightly squashed nose. He won a few points for the sweet, awkward smile, but they were all decimated by the fact he felt the need to actually wear the company hat distributed to all interns—primary colors, propeller top and all. Probably a nice enough kid, but very clearly overeager, and most likely clingy. Besides, it was always the innocent looking ones you had to look out for.

"Yeah, actually," I said blandly, turning back to my laptop and propping an elbow up on the table. I chose to ignore the quiet, choked sound of surprise he made, thrown by my unexpected answer. I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes, choosing instead to rest my head in my free hand and stare at my screen until his shadow receded from my table. But apparently, he was more determined than I'd given him credit for.

"Well, that's—that's cool," he chuckled nervously, hands wringing the strap of the book bag he had slung over his shoulder. "S-So you're like an employee?"

"Nope."

"Oh," he sighed, before revving up for a second attempt. "Then are you an intern, too?"

"Nope."

"Oh… Well, um…ahem…so are you…? I mean, uh…"

I waited for him to finish for a solid six seconds. When it was painfully obvious he had no clue how to save himself from the awkward, flustered pit he was sinking in, I looked up from my laptop once more. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'm gonna stop you right there." I snapped my laptop shut and turned to look up at him, giving him my full attention. "What's your name?"

"M-Me?" He paused, actually looking around as if looking for someone else. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Um, I'm Tate."

"Tate," I repeated with a slightly patronizing smile. "Look, you seem like a nice guy. And I'm sure that you've got some crazy IQ or a really nice car or something. If you're lucky, maybe even both. But I'm not really looking to get involved, or really interact at all with any of the company's interns."

I raised my eyebrows a fraction as the poor boy gaped like a fish. Mouth open, mouth closed, mouth open, looking desperately for something to say. "O…kay…" he managed, shoulders slumping forward slightly.

I beamed, tucking my laptop under one arm and precariously placing my cup in the same hand. I rose from the chair, straightening my skirt and purse strap before patting Tate bracingly on the shoulder. "Nice meeting you though. Seriously, good luck."

And without another word, I stalked out of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone around me. I'd already gotten four bad pick-up lines in the last twenty four hours. I did not want to go for five.

My retreat from the first floor lobby meant that I was about a half an hour ahead of the schedule I had planned for myself, but I kept moving anyway. There was only one place on campus where I would be safe from engaging in any sort of social interaction, and that was a spacious office up on the sixth floor.

I tried to keep my face emotionless as I passed through the first few floors. That was where most of the interns were being kept, along with the younger, new employees. I'd made it a general rule not to talk to anyone around my age at the company. They were still skittish, too anxious to climb the corporate ladder and willing to do anything they had to in order to do it. I'd had enough of being around that kind of desperation, so I kept my distance. But despite my efforts, they all seemed to know who I was. I guess they felt like they had to, on some level. At least, they did if they wanted to get anywhere.

I only felt safe when I passed up into upper management. I smiled politely and waved at everyone I knew. Considering that I'd developed the habit of spending the summer at Google, and had just about every year since I was four years old, that was basically everyone—people who, for better or for worse, were like extended family to me. A few just grinned or gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Others actually stopped me with hugs, gushing about how long it had been since I'd seen them.

But even though I was much more comfortable upstairs, it wasn't the same as the previous summers. There was an underlying tension in all of my interactions. I was more closed off than I'd been in years, and even though I'd been attempting to hide it, everyone seemed to notice. Thankfully, no one asked about it outright. I think they knew enough that they didn't have to. And I was not in the mood to discuss all the things that had changed since my last summer at Google.

I picked up my pace when the office I was looking for was in sight, traditional glass door covered by a flat, white curtain, blocking the inside of the room from view. I strode up without hesitation and tapped a practiced rhythm against the glass before a familiar, deep voice granted me entrance.

"Hey, Dad." I closed the door behind me and dropped my purse unceremoniously on the floor next to one of the couches. Why his office needed two of the huge, green sofas was beyond me. Even as the director of Google Translate, he almost never had meetings in his office. That's what the dozens of conference rooms were for. If it was a short meeting with one or two other employees, he had the matching armchairs on the opposite side of his desk. And it's not like he was using it for corporate naptime. Even if he wanted to take a nap, there was a whole corner of the main building dedicated to freaking nap-pods. And yet here I was, in the middle of an entire living room setup, complete with two couches, a glass coffee table, colorful area rug, a minifridge, and a plasma TV. Not that I was complaining. Dad might never use any of his company-granted amenities, but I certainly got good use out of them.

"Morning, Emily," he replied cheerfully enough, though he didn't bother to raise his head from his work. "I wasn't sure I was going to see you in the office today."

"Why?" I asked, momentarily placing my laptop on the couch.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and straightened his glasses, eyes still fixed on his work. "Well you went out last night, and you still weren't home when I got back from work."

I shrugged. "I got back late."

"Hm, is that why you still weren't in your bed when I came in to check on you before I left this morning?"

I winced, but quickly composed my face into a minorly sheepish grin. "Okay, so I got back a little later than I thought…"

"You're old enough to make your own decisions," he said, though his tone made it sound as if he were trying to remind himself more than me. "If you don't come home every night, that's fine. I just want to make sure you're being safe…"

"Oh my God, _Dad_."

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying that I didn't expect you to be up so early."

"I've been sitting in the café for an hour," I said smugly.

He raised an eyebrow at his computer screen. "You usually spend hours down there. Why the early departure?"

"Escaping sexual harassment," I informed him, taking a long sip of my regrettably cold coffee before discarding it.

I heard the telltale sound of my father trying to suppress a snort. "Did you at least handle it politely?"

"Politely?" I glared at him and threw my hands out to the side. "Why should I be expected to hand sexual harassment _politely_?"

"Because I know your definition of sexual harassment," he sighed, shaking his head at the pile of papers he was sifting through, "and it's usually on par with the generally accepted definition of friendliness."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I scoffed plopping down onto the couch and swinging my feet up.

"Feet off the upholstery."

I pouted, but grudgingly slid down in my seat so that my shoes were clear of the fabric, my ankles and head resting on opposite arms of the couch. "You try being an attractive girl with a famous dad in a sea full of nerds," I said as if he hadn't interrupted me. "Survive that and maybe I'll consider taking your advice."

"At least tell me you haven't gotten me in any trouble with my colleagues," he begged, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

I rolled my eyes, restoring my computer to its rightful place on my lap. "Come on, gimme some credit, Dad. No employees, just a few presumptuous interns."

"Interns?" he repeated, actually pausing in his scribbling on important documents.

"Yeah. It's arrival day. Yippee."

Dad apparently found that important enough to look up from his work at long last. "Oh that is today, isn't it?" He peered at me over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses, looking more like some eager professor than a father. He leaned forward on his desk, and clasped his hands in front of him. "Think you'll go down and mingle? Maybe make a few friends?"

"Hm, let me think about that, _no_," I said in a single breath. I immediately turned back to the article so I wouldn't have to see the disappointed look on his face. Hearing that I-feel-like-I've-completely-failed-as-a-parent sigh was bad enough.

"Why not?" he asked.

I held my tongue for a moment, trying to breathe deeply through my nose. It felt like we had the same exact conversation at the beginning of every summer. I didn't know if he managed to purge all of his memories every year, or if he was just overly optimistic that one day I would wake up, shed my cocoon, and become the beautifully enthusiastic social butterfly he wanted me to be. I never bothered to ask. Either way, it meant having the same conversation every year.

_"Dad." "Emily." "The interns are here." "Are you going to go make friends?" "No." "Why?" "Because every single goddamn 'friend' I've ever had seems to want to spend more time getting to know you and your fucking job instead of me, Dad." _

I never actually said that.

"Because humans my own age repulse me, father," I said instead, one hand waving regally through the air to dismiss the notion. "You can't expect me to interact with such commoners and peasants! The audacity!"

It made him grin, but the expression was bordering on exhaustion. Maybe he was just as tired of having this conversation as I was. But he hadn't given up just yet. "You're not going to get along with everyone you meet, sweetheart. That doesn't mean there aren't people out there worth getting to know."

I gasped and laid a hand over my heart. "Wow, Dad. That—That was really profound. Can I quote you on that? I might embroider it on a lacy, decorative pillow for this stupid sofa."

Dad shook his head, rubbing a hand over his forehead in a way that made my stomach twinge with the tiniest bit of guilt. But I had to stay firm. I wasn't about to frolic off into a sea of humanoid piranhas just to get the mopey look off his face. He didn't actually have to deal with any of them.

"I just worry about you," he sighed. He folded his arms in front of him and looked at me in earnest. "I know that it can be stressful trying to figure out what it is that you want to do after college…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"And I know things haven't been easy for you over the last year or so, what with…"

"Dad!" I snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

He froze for a moment, but relented, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, you're right. I'm sorry. I just… I hate seeing you like this, sweetheart. You hardly talk about school anymore, and when you're home you just stay locked up with me in my office. I mean, I love your company, Emmy, but I don't want you to be…lonely…"

I groaned internally, attitude dropping off my face. There he went with the nicknames. The overly emotional parent act. _"I just want what's best for you,"_ and all that bullshit. Well, not bullshit exactly. I knew that he did actually care, and that he'd always tried his best to make sure I'd grow up like any other normal kid. I guess I just wasn't meant to be normal, though. And he wasn't to blame for that.

"I'm fine, Dad," I assured him. "Really. I'll figure it out. I've got a few friends at school, and I've got you here. I don't want anyone else." He pursed his lips skeptically, but I cut him off before he could argue. "Honestly, Dad, I'm perfectly fine with what I have. I just don't see the point in frustrating myself out there when I have everything I need right here."

"You really expect me to believe that I'm everything my beautiful, twenty-one year old daughter needs?" he asked wryly.

I smirked. "Well, you and _Vampire Diaries_." That did the trick. Dad dropped the serious gaze, ducking his head and chuckling into his paperwork. I grinned triumphantly, fishing my headphones out of my purse. "Which is what I'm getting back to right now, if you don't mind." He looked up, as if he was about to say something else, but I held up a hand. "And you have work to do. Stop slacking! Mush!"

He simply shook his head with a grudging smile, replacing his glasses on his face and continuing his work. I let out a long, low breath, turning back to my laptop and plugging the headphones in. Crisis averted.

At least, it was for a while. I let my father get on with his filing or email writing or secret government hacking or whatever, and in return he left me alone to enjoy my show, and pretended he couldn't hear my gasps or muttered curses to the characters on my laptop screen. But that was all normal. Consuming copious amounts of fiction was generally the way I passed every summer—whether it be books, movies, television shows or anything in between. I'd repeatedly thrown myself into fictional world after fictional world. At least then it didn't feel like I was locking myself in an office at a tech company's headquarters. I usually let myself get pretty wrapped up in it, which was probably why I didn't even notice my father had gotten up until he was pulling the headphones off my head.

"Emily!"

I jumped in surprise, my head jerking up to discover my dad's exasperated expression. "Dad!" I replied, mimicking his scolding tone.

He gave me a pointed look, thrusting a pile of papers between my face and the still-running show. "I need you to run these down to Mr. Chetty for me. It's a copy of the translate itinerary for the intern track, so he needs it in the main atrium as soon as possible." Without any more explanation, he turned his back, returning to his desk. He seemed completely at ease with the situation, but his explanation made my jaw drop.

I tossed the folder onto the glass table, swinging my legs off the couch and jumping up so abruptly I almost felt dizzy. "I'm sorry. What part of 'I'm not going down there' did you not understand, Dad?"

"You never said that," he countered, clearly getting far too much enjoyment out of distressing me.

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "I thought I made it pretty clear," I snapped. "I'm not socializing with the interns."

He sighed, but turned to face his computer instead of me, maintaining his resolve. "You don't need to make friends, Emily. I'm asking you to deliver paperwork to my colleague. That requires little to no social interaction."

"Yeah, but you're still dropping me into the Cornucopia of the internship Hunger Games," I pointed out. He ignored me, clacking away on his keyboard so quickly that I suspected he might just be moving his fingers in an attempt to look busy. "I'm not an intern, you know?" I reminded him with a glare. "You can't just send me out to do your bidding like some little henchman."

"But I am your father," he said without looking away from the screen. "So either you deliver those papers to Mr. Chetty, or I'll be forced to confiscate your laptop so I can actually enjoy some peace and quiet."

"You wouldn't," I challenged, taking a step in front of the computer.

"I can and I will."

I pursed my lips, fidgeting but holding my ground for a few solid seconds. Finally, I caved, snatching the folder up from the table and stomping to the door. "I hate you," I grumbled, wrenching the door open.

"Love you too!" my father called from behind me, just before I slammed the door shut.

I took a moment to shake off my irritation. Storming through the building in an angry tirade would only draw more attention, and if there was one thing I'd had enough of for the day from overeager kids in my age bracket, it was attention.

I'd been hoping it was late enough in the morning for the first floor to be relatively clear. The interns would be in their collective orientation meeting, and I could quickly and quietly hand off the paperwork without passing any curious faces. But of course, when is life ever that easy?

Instead, my father had managed to kick me out of his office at the most inconvenient time possible—rush hour traffic. The meeting must have been starting in a few minutes, because the hallway leading to the main atrium was blocked solid with energetic, unfamiliar faces. I groaned as my eyes landed on the swarm. Not only was I going to have to be near the fresh meat, but now I had to be packed in alongside them like a can of sardines. Fun.

Resigned to my dismal fate, I tightened my arms around the file, hugging it to my chest and tilting my chin up as high as it would go without looking ridiculous. It might have been impossible to avoid human contact, but I was going to try my best. If I was going to be thrown into the mix, I was at least going to try to look intimidating. Not just confident or comfortable with myself, God forbid I actually look friendly, but completely uninviting. And that strategy seemed to work for the most part. I got a few glances, but people seemed to be able to tell I was one of the few people who weren't in the mood for conversation.

It was torturous, moving inch by inch until suddenly we weren't moving at all. Complete roadblock. My hands tightened around the file, stopping just short of leaving finger-shaped creases in the documents inside. For a moment, I contemplated holding my ID badge over my head and pretending to pull rank to push my way through. But a quick look around debunked that plan immediately. All of the interns got pass badges upon checking in, almost identical to mine. No one in the crowd was going to believe I was anyone but an intern myself.

I craned my neck, trying to look ahead to see what was causing the hold up, before I was nearly knocked off my feet by someone colliding with my back.

"Watch it!" I spat, glaring over my shoulder.

The guilty boy hardly flinched, his eyes glued to his phone. "Yeah, could you move now?" he asked, thumbs flying across his touch screen.

I pursed my lips, far too irritated already to deal with some rude, clumsy techie and his crap. I turned on the spot so I could glare at him full on. "And where would you like me to go? In case you haven't noticed, it's a fucking madhouse."

I'm not sure whether it was the actual words or the tone of my voice, but something had finally caught his attention. His eyes flicked up to mine through black-rimmed glasses before panning around the area. He straightened up slightly as he looked around, assessing the total fire hazard we were caught in the middle of. He huffed slightly, obviously annoyed that I'd been right, before turning back to me. He kept his phone up, but his eyes scanned up and down my body. I tensed, right hand clenching into a fist just in case the douchebag decided to be the fifth guy to ask if I came here often. I needn't have worried though. Instead, his eyebrows rose expectantly, edging up his pale forehead towards a mess of tousled brown hair. I noted briefly that, for the moment, he had his corny company cap crushed between the fingers of his left hand.

"So? Are you gonna apologize?" he asked.

This time it was my eyebrows that shot upward. "A-Apologize?" I said dumbly.

The boy smirked slightly, tilting his head with an arrogant expression. "For stopping short with literally no warning. I mean, it's the least you can do. You should pay more attention."

"Pay more a…?" I echoed, a bubble of rage slowly welling in my chest. "Well _excuse me_. I didn't realize that I needed to announce that there was a fucking mob of people in case some oblivious asshole decided not to look up from his phone."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, you hit me, so it's your fault."

"Oh yeah, right, of course." He nodded mockingly, rocking back on his heels and waving his hat around airily.

I forced myself to take a moment to regain control. I was not going to let some fucking intern wind me up. I let out a long breath through my nose before composing my face into my signature, patronizing smile. "You tail end someone in traffic, it's the second car that's at fault."

The boy squinted dramatically, as if he were considering the argument. "Wow, well, thank you for that completely unnecessary road test," he said, eyes flicking down to his phone and then over my shoulder. "But the uh, 'lane' is clear now, so I'm just gonna go ahead and pass on the left?" I quickly looked around, noticing that the horde around us was in fact in motion once more. I opened my mouth to reply, but the boy was already one step ahead. "Try not to crash into too many other people, kay hot stuff? Great."

Before I could even process what had been said, he side stepped me and pushed forward in the crowd. My mouth was still open as I watched him go, waiting for some snarky reply to come out on its own so I could have the last word. I always had the last word. But the infuriating phone boy didn't seem to care. He tugged his hat onto his head, effectively blending in to the rest of the intern drones and disappearing from my sight. I finally snapped my mouth shut with a huff, my fingers tightening on the file until the paper inside emitted an audible crinkle from the pressure.

"Douchebag," I grumbled, before finally moving along with the flow of traffic.

Needless to say, the encounter had me thoroughly disgruntled. I elbowed my way through most of the crowd, trying to peel off toward the small group of actual Google employees that were congregated at the front of the hall. I took a moment to shake myself off once I was clear of the mob, tugging at my skirt and brushing off the feelings left over from being repeatedly bumped into. Then I marched over to semi-familiar group of executives.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chetty?" I internally rolled my eyes at my voice, which seemed to automatically become softer and higher when talking to authority figures. It was a pretty serious contrast from the voice I'd used cursing out Touch Screen Boy.

Mr. Chetty glanced around at the mention of his name, and quickly dismissed the few managers he'd been conferencing with. I waved at a few of them as they dispersed. The man turned to face me directly and crossed his arms over his tacky sweater vest. "Miss Terrell," he greeted in his clipped Indian accent. I winced at the indiscreet use of my last name, reflexively looking around to check that we hadn't caught anyone's attention. "Good to have you back at headquarters."

"Well, good to be home," I replied politely, my smile much more strained than his own. Eager to escape, I quickly handed over the file. "I was asked to deliver these to you."

"Ah yes. Thank you very much, Emily."

I stood there for a moment as he flipped the folder open, scanning the first few pages in silence. I bounced on the balls of my feet, glancing around awkwardly. It was a few solid seconds before I remembered that I didn't exactly need to wait to be dismissed, because I wasn't even an employee. "Well, I'm just gonna…"

"You know," Mr. Chetty said abruptly, foiling my exit plan, "I was disappointed to see that your name was yet again absent from the list of applying interns this summer."

"Are you surprised?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Chetty shook his head slightly, eyes remaining on the file. "No. But I suppose I have always held out hope. You're remarkably intelligent, Miss Terrell. We'd be glad to have you."

"Am I not already part of the team?" I gasped, pretending to be offended.

The man glanced up, sending me one of his rare smirks. "We'd be glad to have you officially," he corrected himself.

I sighed. "Well, uh, thanks Chet, but I'm gonna pass. Can't imagine growing up and still being stuck here for the rest of my life, you know?"

He raised his eyebrows skeptically, but nodded in consent. "Well, if you were to change your mind I'm sure something could be arranged. You have incredible potential, and there is an exception to every…"

"I'd rather _not_ be an exception, actually," I cut him off firmly.

Chetty trailed off, closing his mouth and giving me a hard, probing look. Luckily, I didn't need to endure it for long, as one of senior employees approached.

"Hey, Mr. Chetty?" he interrupted. "It's about time to get started. Oh, heya Emmy."

"Hey, Sid," I replied with a bright smile. "I'm heading back anyway. Have fun with your victims." I gave the pair a thumbs-up and spun on my heel, scampering from the room before Chetty could attempt to talk about my future anymore. We both had better things to do. He had a room full of interns to train, and I had a room full of interns to avoid.

Thankfully, Dad had kept his word about not confiscating my laptop, so I had an endless supply of television when I returned to his office. It kept me occupied until I started getting hungry, since the only thing I'd had so far was my coffee and a doughnut. So I'd suggested that we grab some lunch together, which Dad had agreed to. Twenty minutes, and my stomach started rumbling. He was just going to finish up the report he was working on. Thirty minutes more. My stomach felt like it was digesting itself from the inside out. Well, maybe it'd best if I just went downstairs and grabbed some food for myself without him, huh sweetheart? Yeah. Thanks, Dad.

And that is the story of how I was forced into wandering back into the first floor café. It wasn't as bad as it could have been though. The kiddies were all being herded into business meetings, getting briefed on the basic inner workings of the company, from workplace behavior to building layouts. That meant, for the most part, they were all confined to the second and third floors. For the most part. But there are always stragglers, and my horrible luck meant that I had to go ahead and attract them.

A long shadow was cast over my table, blocking out the afternoon light that had been washing over my forearms as I played on my phone. I clenched my teeth, refusing to look up.

"If you're about to use some lame ass line like 'you come here often' I swear to God I'm going to punch you in the throat."

The response was a light chuckle, but the figure didn't move. "How about, 'Is this seat taken?'" inquired a deep, British accent.

I snorted and narrowed my eyes at my phone. "I was kind of hoping to occupy the entire table by myself, so it might as well be, yeah. Bye."

Another chuckle, grating at my nerves. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh, Emily?"

My head immediately snapped up. Unsettlingly, the boy standing in front of me was not someone I knew. He didn't seem all that exceptional. Average height, average build, maybe a slightly above average face with dark, "smoldering" eyes to go with his olive skin. Eyebrows too thick, mouth too small. He was probably banking on the accent to get him anything he wanted. But the only thing that really stood out to me at that moment was the overwhelming sense of confidence. He was completely unfazed by my biting attitude, actually laughed instead of flinching. He stood tall with his shoulders back, actually managing to look borderline impressive despite his button down and plaid blazer. Of course, all of this was overshadowed by my apprehension that he knew my name. He knew more about me than I knew about him, and that left me at a disadvantage. I did _not_ like being at a disadvantage.

"Excuse me?"

"Ha, sorry," he apologized, looking as sheepish as he could without actually being sorry. He was far too sure of himself to admit that he'd made a mistake. "That probably wasn't the best first impression."

"Bad pick up lines and creepiness? Yeah, not really."

He smirked, resting his hand on the back of the chair opposite me. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yes."

"Ah." He nodded, but instead of backing off, his smirk grew and he narrowed his eyes at me in an annoying, calculating way. "But you won't leave if I do. You seem like you're far too determined to run away, aren't you?" I opened my mouth to reply, but for the second time that day, I didn't seem to have anything to say. He saw the weakness, and took advantage of it. Slowly, he pulled the chair out and sat down, eyes never leaving mine. When I made no move to leave, he relaxed slightly, offering me his hand. "Graham Hawtrey. It's a pleasure."

I glanced back and forth between his face and hand for a few seconds. But the evidence thus far only proved that he probably wouldn't go away until I gave in. Reluctantly, I shook his hand. "Emily," I said shortly, and snatched my hand back. "Most likely a displeasure."

"Well, thank you for humoring me," he offered with a wide smile. I sneered, and turned my attention back to my phone.

He let the silence sit for a few moments, lounging back in his chair as if he'd been working there for years. I could feel him watching me, but I stubbornly ignored him. I willed him to just get bored and go away. But the pure power of imagination didn't seem to be working. Instead, he waited until I'd gotten used to the silence before smashing it to bits.

"So, Emily Terrell, yeah?" My head flew up instinctively, eyes wide with terror. Graham's smirk grew, knowing that he had my full attention at last. "Chetty doesn't exactly have the quietest voice," he explained in answer to my unasked question. "And I promise, not consistently eavesdropping, but well… A gorgeous girl like you walks into the room, it's a bit hard to ignore, you know?"

"I'm sure," I growled, glaring at what would otherwise have been a smoothly delivered compliment.

"Sorry," he lied again. "You must get that all the time."

My lips tightened into a straight line. "Honestly? Yeah. I do."

"Well, if the pretty face doesn't catch them your upright honesty must." I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest in response to the unimpressive joke. "No? Well then maybe it's the dry humor," he suggested. "Determination? Astounding intelligence?"

"You know, in comparison to this uninventive list of positive attributes, you might have been better off with 'do you come here often'," I mused, rolling my eyes and mirroring his relaxed, careless position in the chair.

"Duly noted," he said, nodding with that self-assured smile. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for all of our future interactions." It was obvious he was trying to provoke another reaction from me, so I forced myself to simply shrug and look disinterested. Unfortunately, instead of making him less interested, Graham seemed to beam, intrigued that I'd caught onto the game so quickly. "No?" he laughed. "Okay then. You've just become my personal mission for the summer."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned about landing a job than some stupid conquest?" I said with a glare.

He waved me off. "Oh, I'm not worried about the job. I feel my position's already well secured. Besides, I didn't just come here to win. I came to learn."

"Oh really?" I asked, feigning interest.

"And who better to learn from than the daughter of Robert Terrell himself?"

The fake excitement melted off my face in an instant, morphing into a bitter smile I was all too comfortable wearing. "And there it is," I grumbled, dropping my gaze to the table edge.

"That is why you're here, isn't it?" Graham pressed. "Daddy's little girl, darling child of Google headquarters? I mean, you must know this place inside and out."

"Right. Must." I kept my eyes down as I started to collect my things. I didn't want to run, but my stubbornness to not talk about my dad was rapidly overriding that initial instinct.

"Oh, come on now, love," he chuckled, laying his hands over my own in an attempt to still them.

I wrenched my hands back and jumped up from the table, glaring at him for all I was worth. "Keep your hands to yourself, keep your stupid pet names to yourself and get the fuck away from me, okay? I don't _work_ for Google. I'm not _helping_ anyone, especially a dickhead like you."

"Ouch!" It was infuriating, watching that stupid smirk grow with every jab I made. "Alright, maybe not now, Emily, but by the end of the summer. You want to put your money on the right horse, make sure the right people are here to keep you company."

"Oh yeah?" I growled. "Well why don't you take your money and shove it up your…!"

"Yo, hey! There a problem over here?"

Graham and I both looked up at the new voice, turning towards the entrance of the café. Striding toward us was a pale, weedy boy with an untidy mop of curly, dark brown hair. He straightened out his glasses as he rushed over, attempting to keep a pleasant, if awkward smile on his face.

"We're fine, hobbit," Graham shot just as a wide smile split over my face.

"Lyle!" I rushed forward, snatching him up into a hug. He staggered for a moment, taken by surprise by the frankly unusual display of affection, but I was too happy to have an excuse to stop talking to Graham to care.

Lyle Spaulding was arguably one of the only employees at Google Headquarters that I really considered a friend. He'd rolled in as an intern just a few years ago, and had rapidly been promoted to first year manager. Usually I avoided interns at all costs, and admittedly I had put Lyle through hell, but he was a special case. I had run into him repeatedly during his first summer, to the point where it'd almost turned into a game. Lyle was fun to toy with because he was just so damn awkward. He wasn't trying to pick me up as a resource like most of the guys our age. If anything, most of the time he seemed to be avoiding me out of straight up fear. And that's why Lyle was safe. So by the time he'd gotten the job, I decided to put my general attitude and hostility aside. Just this once.

"Hey hey!" he finally said, pulling back and regaining his composure. "Em-dawg! What's up, my girl?" I rolled my eyes, ruffling his hair instead of giving a legitimate answer.

"Wait," Graham choked out, raising his eyebrows. "You two know each other?"

"Obviously." I smirked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Didn't you just say I must know this place inside and out? Come on, Lyle."

"What? Oh, um, okay?"

He bounced nervously as I snatched up my belongings and turned to march away. But I only made it a few steps before I turned back. "Oh, and by the way _Graham_," I spat, mimicking his accent. "I might not be friendly with everyone in this building, but I guarantee you that most of them have bullshit detectors that can tell that you're full of crap from a hundred miles away. So you might want to keep that in mind when you're revising your kissass speech."

I threw up my middle finger and spun on the spot, avoiding having to look at the amused expression spread on his face. Instead, I wrapped my hand around Lyle's forearm, yanking him away and dragging him out into the hallway.

"God, I am so done with interns for the day," I said as I stormed away from the café. "Actually, you know what? Forever. I am done with interns for forever."

"W-Wait, so what happened?" Lyle asked, struggling to keep up with my long strides.

"What do you think happened?! Flirt, flirt, flirt, 'hi I'd like to meet your dad.' As usual."

I heard Lyle sigh next to me and he grabbed my arm, forcing me to slow my pace down to a leisurely walk. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, nudging me slightly with his elbow.

"Oh, shut up," I groaned, but I pushed back gently. "It's not your fault."

"Well, hey!" he said brightly. "You wanna come hang at mah work crib? My projies are about done for the afta-noon and Lyle could use some R and R."

I grinned, unable to stop myself from shaking my head at him. "Yeah, actually. Sounds good."

"Alright!" he cheered, clapping his hands. "Time for a little G to the O to the T, baby!"

"Okay, first of all," I laughed, linking my arm through one of his, "I want a full rewatch this summer, so we're starting at the beginning. Second, it's not _Game to the of to the Thrones_, so can you please talk like a normal person for like two seconds?"

"Hey, hey, no hate, Em-dawg!" he said with a shrug. "This is just the way I is!"

"Lyle, you are seriously the whitest, most awkward, most straight-edge person I know. It's just embarrassing."

"Well excuse me, but I can't control all this straight up G!"

I nodded, rolling my eyes. "Right. Well if you haven't noticed, I'm a little on edge today, so if you insist on talking like a 'straight up G' I'm going to _straight up_ punch you in the face."

"Fine, fine," he conceded. "Lyle's gonna kick it down a notch."

"And no third person," I added with a smirk.

"Aw, come on!"

"Hey, I don't make the rules, _L-dawg_."

That was pretty much how I spent the rest of my day. Lyle and I picked at snacks and watched _Game of Thrones_ in his tiny office on the fourth floor, quoting along and bickering about character development. Finally, Lyle had to get back to work, but he graciously let me curl up on a spinning chair and continue watching my own shows on my laptop, so long as I wore headphones and promised not to be too distracting.

He did eventually have to go home though, sooner rather than later. He was completely freaking out because he was starting as an intern mentor the next day, and felt like Chetty was just waiting on the edge of his seat to watch him fail. That was probably true, not that I said it out loud. I just told him to go home and go over his stuff there. There was no point staying at headquarters. He was only psyching himself out. Nothing I said made him feel any better, but ultimately he gave in, leaving me with nowhere to go but back to my dad's office.

Unsurprisingly, my father had barely noticed my absence. Any comments for me were delivered to his computer screen or keyboard, and I received minimal responses to anything I asked. I futzed around on the computer for another few hours, until it was finally getting dark outside. But Dad still showed no sign of stopping. That wasn't exactly unusual—it was normal for him to be completely immersed in his work, especially by the end of the day—but it was hard to suppress the hope every year that this summer would be different.

"Hey, Dad, I'm gonna head home," I announced when I was tired of waiting. I swung my bag up onto my shoulder and paused at his desk to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Already?" he asked, looking up from his work for the first time in hours.

"Yeah. Already."

He glanced out the window behind him at the dark sky, then down at his watch to check the time. He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know I said something about dinner, but Jared just dropped this report on my desk and…"

"I know, I know. Work first." Dad shot me a guilty look, and I waved him off. "Seriously, Dad. I'll be fine."

"I promise I will be right behind you."

"Yeah, right. And I'm the Duke of Buckingham."

"Well then, good sir, I will see you at home." I rolled my eyes and walked to the door, swinging my car keys around my finger. "Oh, and Emily?" I paused, my hand on the door handle, but he was already looking back at his computer screen. "Try and get here early tomorrow, okay? There are a few things I'd like your help with."

I groaned, leaning my shoulder against the open door. "Dad. Not an employee. Not an intern. Not associating with interns," I reminded him shortly.

But he was back in the zone, and his eyes never left his paperwork. "Uh-huh," he agreed distractedly. "So bright and early tomorrow, sweetie!"

I clenched my mouth shut and slammed the door behind me. I stood in the hallway for a few seconds, waiting quietly for a response—a reprimand, an apology, anything. But there was nothing. He probably hadn't even realized that I'd left yet.

I stomped my foot childishly before whirling around and heading to the parking lot. There wasn't anything to worry about though. Sure, he could hold dad-punishments over my head as long as he wanted, but he couldn't actually make me do anything. I was an adult. I was a mature, responsible adult who wasn't actually employed by Google. If I didn't want to interact with interns or employees or really do any socializing whatsoever at headquarters, I didn't have to. That was my prerogative. They couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to do.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! So, when I first went to see the Internship, I wasn't expecting to like it half as much as I did. Now it's probably my favorite stand alone movie ever. I saw it in theaters like 5 times, I bought it on iTunes, and then got it on DVD just because I could. I just love it to pieces, the humor, the message, the characters. And as with everything that I'm obsessed with, I ended up coming up with a character of my own and decided to write about it. **

**Unfortunately, I do not own the Internship or Google Inc, obviously, and credit for those things go to their respective and incredible creators.**

**I hope you guys like the first chapter. It's certainly been through the mill, read and edited by about 20 different people in my Creative Writing class, so I hope that it's up to par and yet still me. I'm still waffling a little bit as to where I want this story to go, but I wanted to put the first chapter up to gauge everyone's interest. Please let me know what you think so I know if I should continue and what you might like to see. I love you all and thank you so much for reading!**

**-Brittney**


	2. Chapter 2

Whoever invented the alarm clock should be shot.

That was the first thought I had upon waking up the next morning. My hand snaked its way out of the blankets, flapping blearily as it searched for the source of the ungodly beeping that had ended my slumber. I finally managed to find the clock, but paused when my fingers brushed a slip of paper over the snooze button. I groaned, reluctantly sliding my head out from underneath the blankets to squint at the clock. I pulled the sticky note off the face, moving it back and forth as I waited for my eyes to adjust to read my father's atrocious handwriting.

_"Morning, sweetheart! I told you it'd be an early day. Went ahead to the office. Please get up. –Dad"_

My eyes slid past the piece of paper to the flashing clock. I nearly screamed when I realized that it was six thirty in the morning.

"No. No. No. No. No."

I crumpled the post it in my hand, chucking it across the room before slamming my hand down on the alarm clock. It successfully cut off the alarm. I took a moment to appreciate the sweet lack of sound in the room before letting my head fall back to the pillow and pulling my comforter over my head. I was asleep again in merely a few seconds.

Unfortunately, my alarm clock was not asleep. What felt like only a few minutes later, the beeping started up again, piercing through the air and dragging me back into reality. I let out a strangled noise of frustration and sprang up into a sitting position, grabbing fistfuls of my hair. I glanced over to the clock to see that it was now seven in the morning, not six thirty-three. Not that twenty-seven extra minutes of sleep felt like much. I was still seething.

A new post it note had been stuck to my clock, and was waiting for me alongside a mug of steaming coffee. I mechanically grabbed the cup, taking a sip and letting my eyes flutter shut as the warm liquid rushed down my throat. I hummed in reluctant appreciation before grabbing the second note, also from my father.

_"Seriously, get up. I'm actually gone this time. I'm beyond the point of knowing what it is that you want to wear, but I still know you well enough to know what you want to drink. There's more coffee waiting for you downstairs. Please try and get to my office by nine at the latest. Love you. –Dad"_

I shook my head, placing the note on the bedside table this time instead of crumpling it up. "Well played, Dad. Well played."

I pushed my pillows back against my headboard and sat back, taking another long sip of my coffee. It didn't take that long to get from the house to headquarters. I figured I'd be able to slowly wake myself up, spend some time drinking coffee in bed before taking a shower, having breakfast and heading over to meet my father.

I honestly had no idea what the big deal about showing up early was. I'd never been asked to do anything there before. At least, not since I was maybe ten. When I was a kid I didn't mind running errands. It was like a game where I could play office, pretend I was some fancy grown up with a fancy suit and a fancy job. But once I started to grow up, I began to realize just how much that fancy job could suck. Having any job could suck. So I began putting off any responsibilities that I could, wandering around headquarters and enjoying all the campus facilities, or watching television in my dad's office. There would always be tiny chores, things like delivering paperwork or printing things if I was handy. But there'd never been anything so pressing that it required me to show up early. Until now.

I tried to shake it off as I drained the last of my coffee from my mug. It was nothing. He probably just had a meeting and wanted me to do something while he was busy. I'd just get it over with, and then I'd have that much more time in the day to do whatever the hell I wanted to. Just the way I liked it.

I finally managed to drag myself out of bed, hopping down the steps and swinging around the bannister on my way to the kitchen. I poured myself a second cup of coffee, peeking into the garage to make sure that my father had actually left the house this time. Once I confirmed that his car was gone, I went back upstairs and cranked up my music to a level that would have made my father cringe. That was the way I preferred my music—so loud that you couldn't just hear the music. You had to feel it.

I jumped around the room for a bit as I tried to wake myself up, dancing around the second floor with my coffee. I didn't bother trying to be productive until I finished my second cup. Then I raided my closet to search for an appropriate outfit for the day. I wound up choosing a short sundress, the black background nearly completely covered with bright flowers. I laid out a worn denim jacket next to it, along with a pair of oxford heels.

Once I'd finally cemented my outfit, it didn't take that long for me to get going. Well, I took my sweet ass time in the shower, but after that I was pretty much golden. Changed, blow dried my hair, applied my make up, poured my third cup of coffee into a travel mug and headed for the garage. I didn't bother making myself breakfast. I'd just grab myself a muffin before heading up to my dad's office. That would only set me back a few minutes.

Or at least, it would have if Satan hadn't decided to release an extra amount of dumbass-operated-cars onto the road that morning. The roads were more crowded than usual, a side effect of the bright sun in the sky. Everyone was either headed to work or to the beach, which meant everyone was on the highway. Which was gross. Even blasting the radio and rolling all of my windows down didn't do much to help my mood.

On top of that, it had slipped my mind that I also had to be dealing with the interns at headquarters. Or maybe I had just purposely banished that detail from my mind in order to make my morning a little easier. Either way, I was slightly taken aback when I walked into the café to find the line backed up into the hall. I groaned, momentarily contemplating skipping the meal and running on coffee until I could finish whatever it was that my father needed me to do. That thought was immediately eradicated by a particularly large growl from my stomach. I needed food, and so I was going to need to wait on line just like everyone else.

To make matters worse, by the time I got to the front, the little vultures had already taken all of the chocolate chip muffins. It probably shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did, but it gave me another reason to hate them all, and it certainly wasn't making my early morning any easier. I moodily settled for blueberry, and glared at a group with chocolate chip muffins as I stormed out of the café.

By the time I got upstairs to my dad's office, it was well past nine. I pushed the door open and quickly shut it behind me, one hand covering my mouth as I tried to chew the overly large bite of muffin I'd just had.

"Hey! Sorry I'm…"

"Emily!"

I turned around to look at my father. For one of the first times I could remember, his head had shot up the moment I walked into the room. He wasn't immersed in paperwork or completely oblivious to my arrival. I actually had his full and undivided attention. And he didn't look happy.

"Do you know what time it is? I asked you to be here at nine."

"I know! Look, excuse me, but I left with plenty of time to get here. But then the road was packed and the café was packed and I hadn't eaten in like ten hours, so…"

My father sighed, ripping his glasses off his face and tossing them onto the table. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Emily, you have to learn to be more responsible."

"Responsible?" I echoed, my eyebrows climbing up my forehead. "Dad, I don't even know what I'm doing here right now! I don't work here! What could possibly be so important that I needed to be here, with you, this early in the morning?"

"There was a meeting," he groaned, running a hand through his thinning hair.

For a moment, my stomach lurched. There was a smidge of victory, knowing I'd called it right about Dad needing me to come in to hold down the fort while he had a meeting, but mostly it was a strong flash of guilt. I didn't see how it could have, but I didn't want to ruin his workflow because I'd been late. "Well, did you have to miss it? What happened?"

"No, no, it got moved back." He rested his head in his hands for a few seconds before ramming his glasses back onto his face. He shook himself lightly. "Just… Just sit down, okay?"

I nodded nervously, not really comfortable with the worry and anxiousness that seemed to be seeping out of my father. But I tried to follow the traditional routine. Walk over to the couches, take a sip of my coffee before placing the cup on the table, drop my bag on the floor, sit on the edge of the sofa, pull my laptop out of my bag and throw my legs up on the couch. But my fingers had barely grazed the computer when my dad called out to stop me.

"No laptop today, okay Em?"

I looked up with affronted curiosity, more than slightly worried now. "What?"

"And uh…why don't you come sit over here?" He gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk.

I slowly picked up my bag, watching my dad warily as he stared intently at the chair in front of him. "Dad, is…is everything okay?"

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine," he said, turning back to his computer. "Just sit down, sweetheart."

I nodded and carefully sat myself down in the chair he'd indicated.

He might have said that everything was alright, but clearly everything was not perfectly fine. Something had to have happened, something important enough to upset the routine that I had been practicing for years. My father had never stopped me from doing something unless he had a reason, one that was usually given early on. But even after I sat down, he didn't say a word. He just started working, fingers flying over the keyboard. And he clearly wasn't even as absorbed or focused as he usually was. Every few seconds he would glance up, either at me or the door to his office. Eventually I grew tired of watching him fidget, and started fiddling around with my phone instead, pulling up a game and trying to block out my father's nerves.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. My father's head snapped up in an instant, and I quirked an eyebrow.

"Come in!"

The door swung open to reveal Mr. Chetty, folder in hand and his usual stony expression plastered on his face. "Robert," he greeted with a nod of his head.

Dad lifted a hand, ushering him into the room. "Yes, Roger. Come in, come in. Have a seat. I'm sorry for the delay."

"I understand," Mr. Chetty replied, crossing the room and taking a seat in the chair to my right. "Emily. It's good to see you've finally decided to join us."

I glanced up from my phone to grin at him. "Hey, I'm a college student. This is still pretty early for me."

"Nonetheless, I was under the impression we were to expect you at nine o'clock."

I raised an eyebrow at his near reprimanding tone, glancing at my father to notice his persisting nervous face. "Um…sorry. I didn't feel comfortable using my overflowing magical powers to get rid of the traffic this morning seeing as I had no idea why I was supposed to come in so early."

Chetty mirrored my expression of confusion, turning to my dad. "You haven't told her?"

A cold feeling of dread immediately started spreading through my body, starting like a rock in my stomach and branching out to my tingling fingertips. "Told me what? Dad?"

My father shot me an apprehensive look, then shared a glance with Mr. Chetty. "Emily, the meeting I was talking about earlier… I needed you to come in this morning because…it's about you."

I looked back and forth between the two men, the anxious feeling gnawing farther and farther inside me. "Why?"

"It's just…sweetheart. I love having you here, and all the time I get to spend with you, but there are so many other things you could be doing. You're growing up."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dad pursed his lips together, obviously fighting to find the right words for what he wanted to say. I raised my eyebrows impatiently. If it was that important, I would've thought he would have practiced or put something thought into what he needed to say beforehand. But he seemed properly at a loss for words.

"There are some people in the company," Mr. Chetty began, relieving my father from his responsibility of speaking, "who are…not ready to accept your decision to stay here this summer."

My mouth hung open for a second, honestly taken aback. "What?"

"Well, you're twenty-one," he reminded me, "You could stay at school for the summer, get a job of your own. And yet you continue to spend your time here."

"But I always stay here!" I rebutted, quickly moving to the edge of my seat and looking frantically between the two men.

"Yes, you do. But it was a different situation when you were growing up. You needed to be watched over, to stay by your father. Now you're older. There are different options."

I fell back in my seat. I felt like my body was seizing up, like I was losing all ability to move. "So what? You're—You're kicking me out?"

"Not necessarily," Dad said immediately, leaning forward. "We just want to make your stay…mutually beneficial."

"Mutually beneficial?" I repeated, glaring at him. "Dad, how many times do I have to tell you?! I don't work for you, remember?"

"You wouldn't be," Chetty said, lifting a hand to catch my attention. "You would be working for me."

My eyes shot over to him, narrowing into slits. "You?"

"We have a slightly larger group of interns this year. You may not be an official employee, but you know the company. I'd like your help managing one of the groups."

"Interns? Oh you cannot be serious. In case you haven't noticed, I don't exactly play well with others."

Chetty dipped his head slightly to the side in agreement, but didn't speak. He didn't disagree with me. He didn't change his proposal. He just sat there, waiting for me to concede.

Suddenly, a whole new thought struck me, one that made my stomach pull tight and my throat the constrict. My jaw fell open, and I slowly turned my gaze back to my father. "This is about last summer, isn't it?! Because you think I'm just some broken little girl that needs to be fixed!"

"No," he sighed, shaking his head. "Emily, it's not."

"Yes it is! You keep pushing all this shit about me needing friends and not closing myself off, so now you're just gonna force me?! 'Oh, go make friends with the interns or I'm kicking you out'!"

"Emily! That is not what I am trying to do here!"

"Then tell me, Dad! Enlighten me! What _are_ you trying to do here?!"

"Emily, the only job you've ever had is working at the café at school. Otherwise you're out partying or locked up in your room. You can't afford to go on like this."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "Oh, I can't _afford_ to. Bullshit."

"This isn't about the money, Emily. This is about you being able to support yourself. I know you don't want to hear it, but you're an adult now, and I want to see that you can be responsible and mature. So if that means I have to force you into getting a job, then I'm going to do it. Understand?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, clenching my jaw and staring at the ground. What a croc of shit. I'd been looking forward to what would probably be the last summer I had to enjoy myself without responsibilities. All I wanted to do was take some time off, curl up with my laptop and watch some good movies, sleep, not worry about having to impress people or be polite or any of that crap. And then Dad decided to just pull the rug out from under my feet and take away my last hope for a good summer, without warning.

"Do I make myself clear?" my father asked firmly, leaning forward on the desk.

"Crystal," I snapped, glaring up at him.

There was a moment of silence as we stared at each other, daring the other to break first. Finally though, he nodded in satisfaction, holding a hand up to Mr. Chetty to indicate he should speak.

"We were hoping that we might be able to have this conversation before the interns divided into teams, but as it stands, the groups have already been assigned managers. We wouldn't ask you to be in charge of your own team. Simply to assist in guiding one with a partner."

"I don't really get along with most of the younger employees, you know. Fair warning."

"Yes, I'm quite aware," Chetty said with a nod. "But I have a group in mind already. The leftovers will need a bit more help than the other groups. Especially as they're currently being led by Mr. Spaulding." I peeked up cautiously at the mention of Lyle, and didn't miss the ghost of a smile of the man's face. "We're trying to employ you, Miss Terrell. Not torture you."

"Right," I said. It was short and dismissive, but I turned in my chair to face him nonetheless, at least slightly more ready to listen to the proposal.

He nodded at the gesture, mirroring my turn. "Now, you would not be permitted to participate in number sensitive events—the various physical challenges in which an extra person would provide an unfair advantage. You would provide guidance and advice, suggest strategies, and in the case of other challenges, provide concrete and physical assistance."

"Joy," I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

Chetty gave me a pointed look. "You do not have to accept this offer. It's simply one of many options. If you detest the company as much as you pretend to, you could always find your own job. Perhaps you'd like to continue on the career path of a barista or cashier."

I withered in my chair, ducking my head at the harsh but valid jab. I'd always said that I never wanted to work at Google. No one would take me seriously, and it'd be the same thing I'd grown up with. No promise of change. But everyone else was dying to get into the company. I couldn't deny that there were perks. I had a good thing sitting in my lap that I was too stubborn to take. I wouldn't have to look for employment, or fill out applications, or worry about interviews. I wouldn't have to worry about getting used to an asshole boss or dealing with gross amounts of people in public. I could just get it over with, and maybe once my work for each day was done, they'd leave me alone.

"Well, at least it's not retail," I sighed, sliding down in my chair.

"Does that mean you'll do it?" my dad asked, leaning forwards. He looked more than relieved, pleased that I was willing to along with it without throwing a tantrum and breaking something. "You'll work here for the summer?"

I pursed my lips, glaring at the edge of his desk. I didn't like to lose. I hated it. I hated this. But I didn't want the trouble of having to go find a job. I'd still be spending the summer at Google, right? I'd just have to spend my time a little differently.

"Fine."

"Good," Mr. Chetty said. He handed me the folder he'd walked in with. "Some summaries of the program to inform you what will be expected of you, and a contract that I expect signed on my desk before you go home for the evening. Now, I suggest you go and find Mr. Spaulding and the rest of your charges before the afternoon's seminars begin."

I blinked, momentarily taken aback by Chetty's ability to snap into business mode. I'd only ever known him as my dad's colleague, someone that was tough but fair and didn't like to broadcast that he was good at heart. It hadn't even occurred to me for a moment that working for him could be different. Working for him would be totally different, and having a boss who knew every mistake you'd ever made and knew all of the different ways to bother you and what to hold over your head…well. That might be even worse than a boss who didn't know you at all.

For a moment I considered taking back my decision, but Chetty simply brandished the file in my face, raising his eyebrows. "Off you go, Miss Terrell."

I bit the inside of my cheeks to hold back any rude comments I might regret later, then snatched the file out of his hand. I stood up, swinging my bag over my shoulder and marching to the door.

"Emmy, everything's going to be fine. Try and have a nice time."

I shot my father grossly over-sweet smile and then slammed the door to his office behind me. It was one of the most well executed exits I'd ever performed. A couple people in the hallway even jumped at the sound, pausing mid-step to look around for the source so they could watch whatever dramatic scene was unfolding. But I didn't even pause. I just clenched the file in my hand, the other one wringing and twisting my bag strap to the point where I wouldn't have been surprised if it broke. I stormed over to the stairs, hair flying wildly behind me as I tried to remain focused and keep my eyes set. There was no telling what kind of tantrum I could slip into otherwise. I could feel the anger practically oozing out of my pours, ready to burn the first person that came remotely close to me, ready to cause destruction for the pure pleasure of seeing someone else as angry and miserable as I suddenly was. Jesus fucking Christ. And I'd thought not getting the kind of muffin I wanted would be the worst part of my day.

I marched across the fourth floor to get to Lyle's office. The floor was pretty similar to the rest—big shot offices lining the glass walls, some cubicles here and there in the middle, along with glass lined common areas and public workstations. Lyle had already managed to secure himself a wall office in the short time he'd been working there, one that was just across from a common area complete with couches, computers, and a glass panel for writing. I'd been fairly certain that's where his group would be working, and wasn't disappointed.

Several heads came into view when I rounded the corner, people that I didn't know and honestly didn't care to. I ignored them for the moment, setting my sights instead on Lyle, who was standing nervously in front of the group. I could see him playing with his hands, a sure sign of his anxiety as his eyes darted around from face to face. There was a small part of me that wanted to console him, help him out of the social whole he was undoubtedly digging himself into. But that small part was immediately swallowed by my next wave of furious rage. I was going to have to help him anyway, wasn't I? Because now that was my fucking job. And it would be my fucking job for the rest of the fucking summer because no one in the building thought that I was fucking capable of being a fucking adult. Fuck.

"Lyle!"

The boy in question jumped about a foot in the air as several heads snapped in my direction.

"Wha-? Oh, uh. Hey! Em-dawg! What up mah girl?"

"Stop," I ordered, blowing straight past him to his office door. "We need to talk."

"Uh, Em? I'm uh…kinda busy right…"

"Now!"

"O-Okay! Um, guys, Lyle's gonna… I mean, um… I'm gonna… Just gimme a minute, kay?" He quickly scurried after me gently closing his office door and throwing an awkward wave to the interns waiting outside. Then he turned to face me where I was leaning against his desk. "Emily, I know whatever you ventured down here for's gotta be pretty important, but I really can't do this right now. I'm working, and if Mr. Chetty finds out that…"

"He already knows," I snapped, dropping my bag to the floor.

Lyle's eyes flew open wide. "What? What does he know? He knows something? He knows you're here distracting me from my job?"

"He knows that I'm part of your job," I said, pursing my lips.

"…What?"

"You know how I told you Dad was making me come in early?" Lyle nodded, patting his phone in his pocket as confirmation that he'd received that particular text message. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Well, the reason I had to come in was so they could give me an ultimatum. Work a job, or get out."

"Get out?" Lyle asked. His fidgeting suddenly stopped as he began to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. Instead of preparing himself to sprint right back out the door, he leaned against another section of his desk. "What do you mean? You always stay here during the summer."

"That's what I said. But apparently not anymore. It was 'go get a job somewhere else, and if you really want to stay here, you have to work for it.'"

"Well, what did you decide to do?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Lyle shrugged, playing with his fingers again. "I didn't know if you were coming to say goodbye or something."

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Nah. I… I'd rather stay here than try and look for something out there, ya know? At least here I know people."

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what are they making you do?"

"This." I grabbed the file, handing it over to Lyle so he could flip through the first couple pages.

His expression quickly morphed from plain curiosity to utter confusion, and his page turning soon grew frantic. "But—But this is the internship itinerary."

"Yup," I said, popping the 'p' as he looked up at me. "Meet your new co-captain."

Lyle's face was a mixture of emotions for a few seconds before it finally decided to rest on fear. "Is—Is this because Mr. Chetty thinks I can't do the job?"

"Nah, I don't think so." I waved him off, grabbing a stress ball off his desk and tossing it back and forth between my hands to keep myself occupied. "Well, that might be part of the reason. Mostly I think you're just my bribe."

"Bribe?"

"Yeah. It's not like I'd show up to work with anyone else. I guess they're hoping that by pairing me with you I might actually show up to do my so called job and socialize and all that fucking jazz." I clamped my hand down on the stress ball, watching with mild satisfaction as my knuckles grew white.

Lyle took a cautious step forward, prying the ball from my hands and setting it to the side. "Does this have anything to do with what happened last year?"

I sighed, laying my hands over my face as I attempted to calm down. "According to Dad? No."

"What about according to Emily?"

"Me?" I lifted my head, balling my hands into fists at my sides and pushing off the desk so I could pace around the tiny office. "Absolutely! He thinks I'm some crushed little girl who doesn't know how to handle anything in my life! I mean, I just wanted one goddamn summer off, you know?! You'd think he'd understand that! But no! Apparently taking some time to be anti-social means I'm going into some sort of psychotic depressive spiral that could lead to me needing mental help or something! And what's the solution? Oh, let's force her to socialize! Let's make her get a job working with people when that's clearly the last thing on the planet that she wants to do! I mean, what kind of fucking game is he playing?! Oh, and then let's deny that that's the reason I'm doing this at all and just pretend it's because I want to see her working. Like, fuck you! He's just too afraid to admit that he doesn't think I can handle myself! He doesn't think I'm dealing with it!" I let out a strangled noise as I collapsed into Lyle's chair. I rested my head in my hands and propped my elbows on my knees, trying to control my breath.

"Are you dealing with it?" I lifted my head slowly, letting my hair hang in my face as I gave him a deathly glare. Lyle twitched, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. "Sorry. That was… I'm done. Look, motives aside, it could be worse, right? At least you get to see more o' Lyle, right?"

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched up into a reluctant smirk. Lyle grinned in victory.

"Yeah. Watching you strugglebus your job. Such fun."

"Hey, it's your job too, Em-dawg," he said, brandishing a finger at me. "Come on, you're just in time for introductions." He stood up, placing my file in his desk where I could find it later and walking back to the door.

I stared warily at the handle, then glanced outside at the interns that would occasionally glance over in curiosity. "I really don't want to go out there."

"Tough luck, gurl. It's this or the Mccy D's drive thru. Your choice."

I groaned, but stood up. I brushed off my dress and walked out the door, heading over to group of people congregated by the computers that Lyle had been talking to. I kept my eyes on my nails, refusing to make eye contact, but I knew that I was only delaying the inevitable.

Lyle hopped up to my side, clapping his hands together, and I could practically feel the cheesy gangster façade rising next to me. "Yo yo! So, minor change in the deets, but we're just gonna lean and rock wid it. I'm Lyle, your lead team manager, and this here is mah girl Emily, my assistant."

"Ugh, please don't say that," I groaned, flicking my nails. "I'll be your assistant the day hell freezes over, dumbass."

"Ha, ha…uh…good one…" He laughed nervously and gestured towards the interns, giving me a pointed look. I cocked an eyebrow at him and he jerked his head towards the group.

I sighed, letting my eyes flick over them without really taking in anyone's appearance. Shy guy, old guy with brown hair, beanie boy, old guy with blonde hair, girl.

"Hi. I'm Emily." I turned back to my nails, but Lyle cleared his throat and jerked a thumb towards the group again, obviously not satisfied with my introduction. I barely bit back a groan as I rolled my eyes. "Hi! I'm Emily and I really don't want to be here right now."

"Hang on, you're also a manager? Seriously?" I looked over to one of the two older men, the dark haired one sitting in the desk chair. He quickly held up a hand and widened his eyes. "I mean, no disrespect, but how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-one."

"Geez, and you're already getting promoted to managing?" the blonde man asked, shaking his head. "That's impressive."

"It's not a promotion," I corrected, crossing my arms moodily over my chest. "If anything it's a form of capital torture. I don't work here."

"Okay, then why exactly are we supposed to take orders from someone our own age with no job?"

I glared at the speaker, the beanie boy who was lounging carelessly on the couch, before I suddenly froze. The quick remark fell off the tip of my tongue as my eyes scanned the pale stretched jeans, green shirt, striped sweater with pushed up sleeves that would normally reach down to the wrists of the hands playing with his phone. I narrowed my eyes as the suddenly familiar black glasses, the untidy brown hair peeking out from underneath the hat. The boy raised his eyebrows at me with a smirk, obviously enjoying watching my reaction as I recognized him from the day before. Asshole with the touch screen phone, still holding the goddamn thing up high.

I pursed my lips, forcing down any comments that would give him the satisfaction of knowing that I recognized him. "Yeah, I was just getting to that, dickwad. Thanks for interrupting."

"Em…" Lyle said warningly, and I rolled my eyes.

"I know some people in the company. They needed a hand. I'm helping out."

"Not a good enough reason," the boy shot from the couch, smirking smugly.

My hands balled into fists at my sides, but Lyle quickly nudged me with his elbow. I glanced over at him, my stomach tumbling as he gave me yet another look that expressed his intent perfectly.

_"Yes. You have to tell them."_

I huffed, flexing out my fingers and splaying them wide in case I lost control and leapt forward to smack the smirk off the guy's face. "I'm… My name's Emily Terrell. My dad's the head of Translate. Usually I get to spend the summer here for free, but this year they're making me work for my rent. I'm co-managing because I've been here long enough to know what I'm doing, so I highly suggest you wipe that look off your face and get used to it."

There was the usual beat of silence as the information sunk in that I was the daughter of one of the most powerful people in the company. The older men exchanged glances. The other kids shifted in their seats. But Phone Boy just quirked an eyebrow, holding up his hands and composing his face into a thin, unconvincing mask of innocence.

"Yes ma'am, Miss Hot Shot."

I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms as my teeth ground together, but Lyle quickly grabbed my arm in an attempt to quell any conflict. "Okay! Wow! So! Team managers done-zo! Who's next?" He tugged me to the side, forcing me to stand next to him while he sat on the ledge between the computer center and the lounge. I reluctantly followed, biting on my tongue when Phone Boy threw me a mock salute.

The other boy slowly got to his feet, red-clad shoulders shaking as he forced himself to look around the group and raise his hand in greeting. "My name is Yo-Yo Santos."

"Yo-Yo, how about a high-five?" the first older guy asked, raising a hand genially. But Yo-Yo instantly ducked, shying away on pure instinct. There was a collective raising of eyebrows as he straighten from his flinch, and the man pulled his hand back. "Woah! Yo-Yo, easy, buddy. I come in peace!"

"Geez, Yo-Yo," the other man asked. "You get beat up a lot in school?"

"I was homeschooled by my mom…"

"Did you get beat up a lot in homeschool?" the dark-haired man asked apprehensively.

I shared a look with Lyle. Player one: Skittish homeschooler. Great start to a winning intern team.

"Discipline is a very important part of growth. But my mother was actually a very nurturing person," Yo-Yo defended, but the words were almost static. Clearly this was an explanation he'd given several times in his life. "For example, she provided me selflessly with the milk of her bosom until I was seven years old."

My hand immediately flew up to cover my mouth so I wouldn't be able to make a single noise to break the beat of stunned silence that followed the sentence. Everyone exchanged surprised looks, but the dark-haired man was the first one to speak.

"So it's like, uh… You're tying your shoes, you're climbing trees, you're blowing up fireworks and then you're right on Mom. You've got mouth on Mom."

I momentarily thought of voicing my doubt that someone as seriously freaked out and sheltered as Yo-Yo seemed to be would ever try and blow up fireworks in their yard, but before I could the boy was nodding.

"Breastfeeding leads to a higher IQ."

"Okay," the man agreed, nodding with a disturbed but politely vague expression.

"Actually the science isn't quite definitive on that," the blonde piped up with a tilt of his head. "I was bottle-fed, it never slowed me down. Vitamins are vitamins whether they come from a teat or a baba."

"Wrong."

We all turned to Phone Boy on the couch, whose eyes had never left his phone.

The blonde's eyebrows knitted together as he twisted around on his stool. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Wrong," the boy repeated, glancing up from his phone. "The teat or baba thing, it's wrong. I just Googled it, so you're wrong." I rolled my eyes as the silence persisted, and it actually took a few seconds for the kid to realize that the expectant gazes were directed at him. "Oh, yeah. I'm Stuart."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Stu," the blonde replied as a few people nodded their heads. "You know, you can't trust everything you read on the…"

"The _Journal of the American Medical Association_?" Stuart cut him off, eyes back on the article on his phone. "Sounds pretty trustworthy. It says that breast milk has more nutrients and that those nutrients are more easily digested and absorbed." He glanced up from his phone as Yo-Yo and the girl nodded along, extending a hand the to the blonde. "Your confusion's understandable though. You were bottle-fed."

I quickly tucked my lips in, unwilling to show any sign that I appreciated the slanting comment in the slightest. It was a complete asshole thing to say. But of course, I was also an asshole.

"He's right," Yo-Yo said, jabbing a finger at Stuart's place on the couch. "That's right."

"Woah, guys!" the dark-haired older man exclaimed holding up his hands in defense. "Where's all this hostility coming from?"

"Where do you think it's coming from, you big tree?" Stuart shot, leaning forward on his knees. "Two-fifths of our team is made of two old guys who don't know shit."

"Wow," the blonde sighed, ducking his head.

The girl next to me got to her feet, holding her hands up as a peace offering. "Okay, guys. I, for one, am very happy to have two…strapping, mature gentlemen on the team."

She grinned at them as they thanked her, sitting into her hip and making me raise an incredulous eyebrow. I was not prepared to watch the only other girl in the group hitting on older men for the entire summer. I had definitely not signed up for that.

"Oh, uh, I'm Neha Patel. And, oh my God, you guys would make the best Luke and Han." She pointed to her "strapping, mature gentlemen" as a manic smile spread over her face.

Unfortunately, they just looked back at her blankly. "Excuse me?"

"Oh! Star Wars cosplay," she explained, waving a hand. I smirked, but that didn't seem to explain anything.

"Cosplay?" the blonde repeated dubiously.

"Costume play! You know, where people dress up as their favorite anime or movie character?" she gushed. "I'd be slave-girl Leia. Yeah. Metal bikini top, metal G-string panty, high-heel leather boots. Of course, I'm chained at the neck. Not too constricted, but just enough to make things interesting?"

My eyebrows climbed farther up my forehead, and I smacked Lyle on the arm when I noticed his head jut forward in typical, horny-anticipation.

"The neck constriction's interest-…?" the first man asked, then abruptly shut his mouth in favor of silent nodding.

"Yeah," Neha conceded. "A few of us get together and, whatever happens happens."

I pulled my lips into a tight smile, not sure if I wanted to laugh, grimace or applaud her. "Well, that's fun."

Neha turned to me with a wide smile of appreciation, obviously pleased I seemed to approve. I bit back any comments about her being too eager to please. I was going to be seeing her for the next few months after all, and creating a riff between myself and the only other girl on the team would probably not be a good thing to do. No matter how uncomfortable that grin made me.

Thankfully, the expression quickly fell away as she turned back to the rest of the group. "Oh uh, but work-wise, yeah um, your skills aren't really relevant here, or really in this millennium so, stay out of our way. We're gonna do this shit on our own."

I pouted my lips but gave a nod of approval as Neha beamed and took her seat once more. Lyle elbowed me a shot me a glance, but I just shrugged. She might have been overly eager to please people in power, but at least she was sassy and willing to stand up for herself. I could respect that. Given time.

"Well, I'm loving this friction," the blonde man started, bracing his hands on his legs. "You know why? Because that's how you get a fire started. I'm Nick, this is my pal Billy, and despite what you may think, uh, we're here just like the rest of you running down a dream."

"Wait, hold on," I interrupted, holding up a hand and taking a step forward. "Sorry I missed the beginning of this riveting little shindig, but you two are interns?"

"Yes, ma'am," Nick said with a curt nod.

I raised an eyebrow with a sly, slightly disbelieving grin. "I mean, no disrespect, but how old are you?"

Billy grinned, brandishing a finger as he caught his own quoted question. "Older than we'd care to admit, but probably not as old as you think."

Lyle hopped up next to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Uh, Mr. McMahon and Mr. Campbell are the two salesmen I was telling you about yesterday."

"Oh! Oh, the uh, blender guys?"

"I see our reputation precedes us," Nick said, sending a wink to his friend.

I grinned and shook my head. "Yeah, that's—that's not a good thing."

"Okay!" Lyle cheered as both Billy and Nick's faces fell. "Uh, Team Lyle!"

"No," I said shortly, while everyone else simply stared at him, unimpressed.

He shifted on his feet, clapping his hands together nervously. "Okay, we'll workshop that. It's in beta."

"Well, we've got two mentors, right?" Billy offered, gesturing to us while he looked around. "Why don't we combine your names? Emyle? Lyly? That's a thing, right?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Lyle and I said together, taking a step away from each other and waving our hands as Nick nodded along with a smile. "No, please don't."

"Why not?" Nick asked.

"Because that's—that's a couple thing?" Lyle tried to explain, shooting me a nervous side-glance. "And we're not, um…and we won't be uh…"

"Oh I see, I see," Nick agreed, but the sly smile on his face showed that he didn't believe a word of it. "I got it."

"Oh my God, I'm gonna vomit," I sighed, turning on my heel and walking back towards Lyle's office.

"Uh, right! Well, our translate lecture's in ten minutes, so…"

"Got it," I called back, and promptly shut the door to lock Lyle out while I worked on whatever paperwork Chetty needed me to sign for the program.

I got about five minutes of peace before Lyle began knocking frantically on the door, begging me to open it so he could get his laptop before we had to leave and you know we really should leave because we'd want to get there early enough to get good seats and Emily could you please just unlock the door and all that. Eventually the ranting became more annoying than it was amusing and I had to let him into the room.

I led the way to the lecture hall with Lyle bringing up the rear, mostly because I was hoping to get away without talking to anyone. While I wasn't forced to speak, I was being closely tailed. Neha seemed to have decided that the safest place for her would be next to me, either because I was the only other girl, or because I seemed to be the best in for a job. The multiple possibilities kept me from interacting with her any more than I needed to, save for a small smile as I held the door open for everyone when we reached our destination.

We filed into one row of seats, some of the last people there thanks to my fun locking Lyle out of his office. I almost thought I was going to get away with it two, until I was spotted.

"Miss Terrell!"

I froze halfway into my chair as the majority of people in the room turned to look at me. One of my Dad's younger employees was standing in front of the projector in the front of the room, suddenly shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of the room, eyeing me with an overly large smile and enough nerves that he seemed about to pass out.

"I'm sorry, I—I didn't know you were going to be joining us this afternoon. Can I—Can I get you something? Would you like a chair or…?"

"I'm actually about to sit in one. Thanks, genius."

"Uh, yes, of course. I'm sorry. I just thought…"

I sighed, throwing both of my hands up to stop his rambling. "Listen, Weatherby…"

"Um it's—it's Westbury."

"Yes, I got it. Thanks. I'm not here for a review or an observation, so you can chill the fuck out and just give your lecture. Okay? Great."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Alright. Um, everyone! If—If I could have your attention!"

I rolled my eyes as the idiot called the meeting to order, sinking down in my chair and pulling out my phone to play some game. I didn't plan on giving Westbury a second of my time. I knew enough about Google translate that I could probably give the lecture myself if I wanted any more attention. But of course, he'd given me plenty enough for a day. He kept stuttering over his overly verbose sentences, his posture pin straight and his chin held about two inches too high. Obviously my assurance about not being a spy for my father had done jack squat to quell his nerves about having me in the room. I snorted after one of his particularly wordy sentences, drawing Neha's attention.

"Is he always this…?"

"This much of a pathetic, skittish kiss ass? Yeah, as far as I can tell."

Neha snickered and went back to taking notes for a few seconds before she cleared her throat. "So…Harry Potter." I raised my eyebrows at her as she cast me a side-glance. "Weatherby," she elaborated. "You were making a Goblet of Fire reference, right?"

"Oh. Um, yeah."

"Yeah actually yeah? Or yeah, I'm just gonna agree with you because you're gonna feel like an idiot otherwise yeah?"

"No, actually yeah. If you were wrong I would point it out, idiot or not." She shot me a conflicted smile, conflicted about whether or not that was supposed to be a compliment. I softened just barely, enough to make me pause in my game. "Sorry, I'm uh…not used to people calling me out when I make a reference that vague."

"It's okay. You can keep your nerd in the closet if you want."

"Nah, it's not in the closet," I said with a shrug. "It's just buried under enough bitchiness and sass that people are too shocked to even think about it."

Surprisingly, she nodded in understanding. "Well, sass is something I can handle just fine."

"And what about the bitchiness?"

She bit her lip. But that was good. It was a sign of intimidation, which was generally my goal. "I'll get though that too. I mean, if you're the only girl I get to hang out with this summer I'll have to, right?"

I decided not to reply to that beyond a nod. She won points for recognizing one of the vaguest references I'd made all week. I chalked them up next to the confident cosplay talk and the devil-may-care attitude about sex. But I still didn't like her targeting me. Only other girl, advantage for a job—either way she was using me, right? So I deployed the tactic I used with most people who seemed too nice for me to be entirely comfortable. Be polite, and short.

The problem was, I was usually using that tactic on boys. Boys gave up too easily when they found out they were going to get what they wanted. But Neha was determined. She stayed close to me all day, not overbearingly close, but she kept me in her sights nonetheless. She sat next to me in all the lectures, asking questions that I answered simply and making jokes and references in hopes of prying more than a smile out of me. And it went on for the whole day. Translate lecture, mail lecture, search lecture, lunch, chrome lecture, wallet lecture, drive lecture, maps lecture, books lecture. I wasn't sure if I wanted to give in and commend her for her dedication or pull my hair out.

At the end of the day, I stole up to the upperclass offices to hand in my paperwork and say goodbye to my dad. He grinned when he saw me, for once placing his pen down to give me his full attention at some time past six o'clock.

"So how'd it go? First day on the job."

"I'm tired. I hate you. And I'm leaving."

"That bad?" he asked.

I paused on my way to the door, turning on my heel to glare at him. "Yes, Dad. That bad. I don't want to socialize with people, especially ones who are trying to get to you and this company. I'd think that given everything that's ever happened to me, you might be a little more receptive to that."

"Sweetheart," he sighed, folding his hands on his desk. "I know that this isn't the optimal situation, but I just want to make sure that you're ready for the real world. You can't spend your whole life behind a laptop screen. You need to know how to deal with people."

"Yeah, well not these people," I snapped, swinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'm only doing this because this is the last summer I'm guaranteed to be able to spend time here. It was gonna be the last time I could have a normal summer, but since you've gone ahead and forced this down on me I guess all hopes of that is gone."

"Emily…"

"I'll see you at home. Or maybe I won't. At least that won't change."

I stormed out of his office, letting the door fall shut behind me with a bang. I marched out of the building, only half surprised to find Neha waiting for me by the parking lot.

"Hey!"

"Hi." I brushed past her, but I could hear her huge red heels clunking on the pavement, struggling to keep up with me.

"Sorry, I just uh… You know, it's still kind of early, and since it's my first night here, I was wondering if maybe you'd be interested in grabbing dinner or something? Just to get to know each other before work starts up tomorrow, you know. Because—Because, you know, we're the only girls. I already said you know. Obviously you know."

I stopped short, holding a hand to my head as I whirled around to face her. "Look, Neha, I get that you want to be friends. I get that. You've made it very obvious."

"Right… Sorry…"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm having a pretty shit day. I'm actually having a day from hell served up to me on a big hellish platter by Satan himself. So I'm gonna go drown my frustrations in alcohol and meaningless sex. If you really want to hang out, you can come along and talk to me after I'm plastered out of my mind."

"Oh…um…" She shifted anxiously between her ridiculously high heels, wringing her jacket in her hands while she kept her eyes on the ground. "I mean, that sounds great, you know. But uh…you know, it's my first night and the job starts tomorrow… Wanna start off strong so, I—I think I'm gonna pass."

"Suit yourself," I said with a shrug, unlocking my car as I started toward it once more.

"But—But you have fun, okay?" Neha called after me.

"Yup."

"Have fun for both of us!"

"You got it."

"That's like—like a whole shitload of fun, you know! Cause I—I have a lot of fun!"

"I can tell."

"I'll uh—I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Unfortunately."

I threw my bag into the backseat of my car, collapsing into the driver's seat and slamming my head against the steering wheel. This sucked. This absolutely and utterly sucked. I had no idea how I was going to survive an entire summer of this. I couldn't do it. There was no way in hell.

I threw the car into reverse so I could back out of the parking space before peeling out of the parking lot. I made a quick right, setting my sights on the first and nearest club that came to mind. I had a preferred method for dealing with shit days. All it required was a handful of shots, some loud music, and some cute guy whose pick-up line was not utterly and completely terrible. And I intended deal with the issue as promptly as possible.

* * *

**A/N: AHA. IT'S OUT. IT'S PUBLISHED.**

**Sometimes I forget how hard starting a story. This story is a lot harder to write than the TW one. But I'm so, SO thankful for the response I've gotten. I know that there aren't a lot of Internship fics, so I am thankful for every single favorite and follow I've received over the past couple of days. Thank you for the beautiful reviews I got from c-bellz, Dr Pantalons, a. Paper. heaRt, AJay131, emele807, kaljara, Taffyrose, Donaldina, LakenAlexander, I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar, EpicSquirrelNinja, OMG, K.A. Greenwick, SimplyKelly, Blazing-Melody, TerryT, AmandaPlease019, beenwithout, ScornedxRose, Liliakan334, MS. QUEEN21, and Moosalapagous. Phew. I love you guys so much. Reviews are vital in this story since I have so much plot to fill in on my own. You guys are my best, favorite, and most important resource.**

**Thank you so much for all your support and I can't wait to hear from you!**

**-Brittney**


	3. Chapter 3

Bad breath is a horrible thing to wake up to. Most especially when it's not your own.

I blearily opened my eyes, trying to blink away the fog that seemed to be saturating my head. My pulse seemed to be throbbing though my whole body, and my limbs felt like they were made of lead. It took all of my strength to raise my hand to my head, pressing a hand over my eyes and digging my fingers into my temples. Maybe with enough pressure I'd be able to stop my head from physically splitting in half. I'd just vowed to not move for the rest of morning and to never drink again when I was assaulted by the next batch of morning breath.

"Blech!" I sprung up into a sitting position and immediately clapped my hands to my head. "Stop spinning, stop spinning, stop spinning…"

I squeezed my eyes shut and took deep breaths as my senses slowly came back to me. There was some sunlight seeping through blinds on my left hand side. I could hear a lot of cars and distant horns honking. The sheets felt scratchy and stale. I didn't have any clothes on, and my stomach felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my throat. And that all added up to…

Drinking. I had been doing a lot of drinking. And I clearly wasn't in my own bed. So, another spur of the moment sleepover.

I lowered my hands as the tilt-a-whirl world came to a stop, clenching the sheets to my chest and running my fingers through my hair. I glanced to my left to spot the owner of the bed, and culprit of the terrible morning breath. Whoever he was, he was still asleep, mouth open wide as his head lolled to the side. His shaggy black hair was flattened on his forehead, strong arms thrown out to the sides. I pouted in consideration as my eyes dragged over his toned chest, and his nose crinkled slightly in his sleep.

"Meh. Done worse."

And then I went into routine mode. There was a battle plan here, a specific series of steps that needed to be followed in a precise order to avoid detection. Get up, get out, be gone.

Step one: Retrieve clothes.

That didn't seem to be too much of a problem today. My dress, jacket, and all my undergarments seemed to have made it to the bedroom. On the one hand, it was nice to not have to go on a scavenger hunt for clothes in the morning—the stereotypical shirt on the couch, bra on the lamp, skirt in the hall sort of situation. But on the other hand, if you made it to the bedroom without a problem then how exciting could it have been, right?

I padded out of the bedroom and glanced around the hallway, piecing together hazy memories until I found my way back to the front room of the apartment, where my purse was waiting faithfully on the counter.

Step two: Call a taxi.

Lots of practice had trained me into doing this as early as possible. Too many times I'd waited too long and ended up with an awkward confrontation while I waited for my ride, or ended up standing outside in the cold for too long to avoid a confrontation. I'd given up doing the walk of shame ages ago. Walking was just not an option, and it limited prospective guys to those who actually lived near where you lived. I was not okay with that. So instead, I had programmed the fastest taxi service I knew of into my speed dial, glanced at a bill on the counter for an address, and asked for someone to come pick me up.

Step three: Fix appearance.

Obviously I was going to go home and shower, but there was a good amount of time between unnamed apartment number one and my house. I had no intention of walking around with the just-woke-up-from-a-one-night-stand look until I could take a shower.

I pulled a compact mirror out of my purse and touched up my makeup, and after a quick glance down the hallway towards the bedroom, sprayed some dry shampoo in my hair. I fished out a hairbrush to brush it out, and repeated the process until my hair actually looked untangled and decent. It wasn't a replacement for a shower, but it was enough to get invasive taxi drivers or nosy neighbors off my back. The less sloppy I looked, the less people stopped to wonder why someone they had never seen before was walking off their apartment floor.

Step four: Hygiene.

I always kept some deodorant and perfume in what I liked to call my party purse, little things to hold me over until I could take a shower. Baby wipes too, depending on just how disgusting I felt the next morning. I also pulled out a travel toothbrush and toothpaste. I didn't bother trying to find a bathroom. More likely than not, that would be the host's first stop upon waking up. I preferred to stay near the kitchen sink, as it was generally closer to the door, and most people don't even want to think about going into the kitchen when they have a hangover. I've run into people who think that carrying all that shit around is not only bratty and presumptuous, but pretentious or childish. But trust me. Run into the same bad situation that many times? I don't care how childish it seems to have a go-bag. I'm not getting caught unprepared.

Step five: Final touches and escape.

I peeked out the window, trying to judge where exactly in the state I'd managed to wind up. At least, I hoped I was still in state. I didn't want to think about that taxi bill. Then I glanced at the time on the cable box, trying to gauge about how much time it would be before my taxi showed up, and how much time it might be before Prince Charming woke up.

I shrugged, and deciding I had enough time to breathe for a few seconds, headed back to the kitchen. I grabbed a large pair of sunglasses from my bag, putting them on and sliding them to rest on the top of my head for the moment. I looked around, scrunching up my nose at the obvious signs of a bachelor's apartment. Coffee spills that hadn't been cleaned up properly, stray pieces of cereal that had been knocked to the floor and never picked up, now collecting dust and becoming an anchor for forming dust bunnies. There were a couple empty bottles piled in a corner of the counter, clearly recyclables he was too lazy to take out, and his tacky, neon shot glass was still on the counter from pre-gaming the night before. But if he was a frequent drinker, there was probably one thing I could count on being in the fridge.

I checked the hallway again before opening the fridge, peering around the wreckage inside before I found an unopened bottle of water. I pouted again, restraining myself for a moment while I thought it over. It wasn't my house. It wasn't my fridge. It wasn't my water. Was I really going to cross that line by just sifting through the guy's refrigerator?

I shrugged, grabbing the bottle and unscrewing the cap to take a large gulp of water. I figured I'd deserved it. If the poor guy was still asleep, then I'd clearly done my job.

I crossed my arms over my chest, keeping my eyes trained on the clock as my memories from the previous day returned to me. Not just the blurry neon lights and crowds of swarming bodies that had been the club. I guess I had a job now. At Google. Which was the last place I told myself I was going to end up. And maybe if it'd been left up to me, that would have been true. But the situation had been taken out of my hands. For the most part, at least. Dad had given me the option of going to find my own job, but I knew full well that he'd never expected me to take it. He knew exactly what he was backing me into. And he was still grinning like an idiot, watching his plan unfold and waiting for me to come to some wondrous revelation that would end with me skipping into his arms with a wide smile and thanking him for everything he'd done for me. That was not the end I was foreseeing.

I swished the water around the bottle, thinking about my so-called teammates. Lyle? Fine. I knew that I could get along with Lyle just fine. I even felt a little bad that he was going to have to spend every day with me. I knew how much he was looking for to this job promotion of his, and now he was going to have to try and coach his team and deal with my pissy attitude at the same time. But Lyle knew that was just the way I was. I wasn't going to pretend I was having a nice time and prove my dad right just to make his life a smidge easier. He was going to wind up miserable either way with the people we'd been charged with.

Neha seemed…okay. She was perky and grating, a tiny bit annoying, but as cautious as I was, something told me her intentions were genuine. She actually seemed concerned that people liked her and thought she was fun, which wasn't the typical just-because-I'm-a-girl-doesn't-mean-I'm-not-professional-and-I-totally-deserve-this-job attitude of people who were too determined to win. That didn't mean I was going to make it easy for her, but I figured with prolonged exposure, I'd learn to handle her.

Yo-Yo needed to man up. I totally understood the reason why he was skittish. It would be hard for anyone to go from being home-schooled their whole like to college and a competitive internship, but he wasn't going to get anywhere if he couldn't stand up for himself. Dude couldn't even accept a high-five. But that also meant that he was probably too socially inept to even think of trying to successfully use or manipulate me, which meant that while his attitude would probably get annoying really, really quickly, he was safe.

Billy and Nick were a crap shoot. The thing was, I was a lot more comfortable hanging out with adults than I was with over-ambitious kids my own age. Most adults were settled in what they wanted, what they had. They were too far along in life to need me for anything, so they were easy to talk to, good for advice. Under normal circumstances, Billy and Nick would probably be the people I would get along with best. But there was a catch. They no longer had that stability. Sure, they'd had it once, but it had been ripped out from under their feet, which made them desperate. That meant they were potentially even more dangerous than any of the twenty-or-something year old interns in the program. They knew what was at stake. I didn't know if they had what it took to really, aggressively fight for it, but if they did, I would be in trouble.

And then there was the last kid. The one I'd mostly been trying to block from my mind for fear of wanting to smash something to pieces. Stuart. What a dick. He wasn't overly ambitious or too eager to win. He was just a straight up, douchy asshole. I didn't have to worry whether or not he was a threat, whether or not he'd try to use me. He clearly wasn't worried about getting on my good side. It seemed that he wanted nothing less than to ensure that my summer was a showcase of hell on Earth. He was manipulative alright, but not because he wanted something specific. He was clearly one of those borderline sociopaths who just liked piss people off, who liked to cause a negative reaction in people just to reassure themselves that even though they were useless, pathetic assholes, they still existed. But I didn't plan on giving him the satisfaction. He wouldn't get an angry, gobsmacked reaction from me. All he was gonna get from me this summer was knocked down a few pegs. I was determined.

"Hey."

I jumped slightly, looking to the entrance of the kitchen to see the mysterious stranger from the bed. He'd combed his hair out a bit, enough that it now swept into his face instead of sticking flat. He was also dressed—or at least wearing more clothes than he'd been before. I wasn't sure throwing on boxers and tank top counted as getting dressed.

He raised a hand, gesturing towards the fridge I was still leaning against with a small grin. "You mind?"

"It's your fridge." I pushed off glancing down at the water bottle in my hand to see that it was already almost empty. Clearly I'd spent entirely too much time thinking and not enough escaping. I'd have to work on not letting my new job interfere in my personal life.

"So last night…" he said, his voice slightly muffled as he stuck his head into the refrigerator. "That was…"

"Decent."

He stood up with a chuckle, pulling a carton of milk out with him. I cringed as he tried to gulp straight from the carton, but he was still a little too drunk to achieve it properly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed again. "Decent? I was gonna say something a little more complimentary. Don't sell yourself short."

"I wasn't." I stalked out of the kitchen, swinging my bag onto my shoulder as I went. "Look, my taxi's already here, so I'm going to head out."

"Oh, uh, okay," he said, padding along as he followed me to the door. "Well, Emily, thanks for a fun time."

"Yeah. You too, Evan."

"Um, Eric," he corrected.

I rolled my eyes. "Well if I wasn't screaming it enough last night to remember, I guess that's your fault." I smirked at the shocked expression that crossed his face, and lowered my sunglasses over my eyes. "Bye!" And I slammed the apartment door behind me.

Luckily, my taxi was already waiting for me down on the street. It was nice to know I didn't have to lie about that bit. I hated frequenting the lobbies of apartment buildings, or standing on the curb. I also got a completely silent cab driver, which in my opinion was the best kind. I gave him my address and then sat back, draining the water bottle and pulling out my phone. I winced, scrolling through the notifications of all my missed calls and texts. Dad had called me twice this morning, and Lyle had called me five times, on top of the fourteen texts he'd sent me.

I glanced up at the sun, already climbing to the top of the sky. Whoops. So much for showing up on time my first day. But I wasn't all that worried. I had actually read through the paperwork Chetty had given me. I knew what the challenges were and when they were scheduled. Day one was all about audio bugs, something I knew jack-shit about. So I figured it wouldn't be a disaster if I didn't show up in time. It might even be a service.

I didn't bother rushing as the cabby pulled up at my house. I paid him, with a decent tip, then walked inside to properly get ready for the day. Coffee on first, get in the shower, get out of the shower, blow dry hair. I chose a pleated denim skirt, with a pair of tan, knee-high boots, a yellow shirt, and a cropped, knit shrug with short sleeves. I redid my makeup and drained a cup of coffee, but that was apparently all the me-time I was allowed to have. I'd already missed another call from Lyle, and while I wasn't exactly worried about being punctual, I was worried about him going into cardiac arrest from sheer stress. So I poured some coffee into a travel mug and got into the car, speeding to headquarters just to enjoy the ride.

"Morning, everyone!" I called when I finally made it to the fourth floor.

I could see that they'd already been at work for a while. The glass panels were full of techy writing that I could only understand half of, and Neha, Yo-Yo and Stuart were all burying their heads in their monitors, fingers flying over the keyboards. Lyle was pacing the floor, beating his hands together as he muttered to himself and his eyes darted around the room aimlessly. At least, until he spotted me. Then his eyes went wide with frustration and panic, and he immediately rushed to my side.

"Emily! Do—Do you realize what time it is?! The first challenge started hours ago!"

I took another sip of my coffee, perching the sunglasses up on my head again. "Yeah, and it's a challenge on audio bugs. I don't do code."

Lyle threw his head back, and for a moment his hands stretched out like he was actually going to strangle me. "It's—I-It's not about you doing code! Or fixing code or reading code or looking at code! You're a manager!"

"Temporarily semi-co-manager."

"Whatever! That means showing up on time for the good of the group, not just when you feel like it. It's about teamwork!"

"Oh please, Lyle. What was I gonna do? You need me to show up and sit in the corner so you can take roll-call? I figured I wouldn't be any help anyway. I don't wanna get in the way of you and your flow. Or whatever."

Lyle sighed, resting both of his hands on his head with his elbows pointing out to the sides. "Did you actually figure that, or are you saying you figured that because you woke up late and couldn't be bothered to rush?"

"Same difference."

"Emily!"

"What?! Just because it wasn't my first thought when I went to bed or when I woke up this morning doesn't mean I don't believe it's true."

"Well for your information, you wouldn't have been doing nothing," Lyle said, throwing his hands out to the sides in frustration. "In case you forgot, you're not the only person on this team that doesn't know the intricacies of coding. You know a lot more than Nick and Billy, and they really could have…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together tightly as he looked away.

My face morphed into a cold, bitter smirk. "Ooh. Lyle, were you just about to carelessly use the phrase 'Nick and Billy really could have used you'?"

I saw him wince, wiping a hand down his face in frustration. "Em…"

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

"You know that's not what I…"

"Hang on," I said, letting my eyes sweep over the room once more. "Speaking of Ancient Thing One and Ancient Thing Two, where are they?"

Lyle immediately seemed to become a few inches shorter as he slouched, one hand reaching back to scratch at his neck. "Uh…they're…gone…"

"Gone? Gone where?"

"To Stanford. Apparently."

I raised my eyebrows. "I don't follow."

He shifted anxiously on his feet, rubbing his hands together and keeping his eyes trained on the ground. "They were being kind of unhelpful this morning. Neither of them really seemed to understand that an audio bug and a password aren't the same thing, and they just kept talking and they were being really distracting, and then the rest of the team tricked them into going to look for the programmer at Stanford…"

Forget raising my eyebrows. They shot up to my hairline, and my jaw dropped. "They…? You…? What?"

"And they…might have told them the programmer's name was Charles Xavier…"

I stood stock still for a few seconds. Then I closed my eyes and took a deep, controlling breath. "Let me get this straight. You're sitting here lecturing me about teamwork, and earlier this morning you let these people send two fifths of the team out on a wild goose chase because they thought they wouldn't come in handy?"

Lyle deflated, wincing pitifully. "I didn't know how to stop them!"

"Oh my God, Lyle! Grow a pair!"

"What was I supposed to do?!"

"Um, I don't know? Maybe say 'Hey, don't listen to them because Charles Xavier is a comic book character'?" I suggested, widening my eyes pointedly.

He groaned. "But…! Everyone would've hated me. I mean, they were being distracting!"

"Then you deal with them Lyle! You teach them! Because that is your job!"

He shook his head for a moment, then looked up at me with narrowed eyes. "You know what? It's your job too. One you could have done if you showed up this morning. I—I can't do everything, okay? I'm not good at dealing with people sometimes. You don't like to, but you can. That's why we're co-managers! We're supposed to help each other with things the other can't do, and help _them_ with things they can't do. That's why you have to be here!"

I stared at him for a moment, face placid as I crossed an arm over my chest and held my coffee up. "That was actually a pretty decent reprimand."

"Are you sure? That felt harsh," Lyle said, wringing his hands.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to face me squarely. "Okay, now keep that anger. Look me in the eye and tell me to come in on time."

"Okay, uh…Emily, will you please try to come…?"

"No. I told you to _tell_ me to come in. And don't make me break out the Yoda quote about trying. Come on, do it again."

Lyle took a deep breath and then narrowed his eyes at me. "Emily. You're going to come in to headquarters on time every single day for the rest of the summer. Got it?"

I gaped and laid a hand over my chest. "Ouch. Slave driver."

"W-What?! You—You told me to…!"

"Geez, Lyle, relax," I said with a smirk. "That was good. Congrats." I took another sip of my coffee and brushed past him, heading for the group of present interns.

"D-Does that mean that you'll come in on time?"

"I said that it was good. Not perfect." I ignored his groan and walked ahead, plopping down on the couch with my coffee and bag. "Morning. How's it going?"

"You know, you really take your stereotypes seriously, don't you?" Stuart jabbed without looking away from his computer screen. "Rich, white girl shows up five hours late with Starbucks."

"Yes, and I can see you're such a trendsetter," I replied, kicking my feet up and reveling in the fact that my dad wasn't there to scold me. "A whole new generation of bitter douchebags wearing beanies instead of fedoras."

He paused in his typing, glaring over at me. "Oh, because you're…"

"And besides," I cut him off. "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to Neha."

"What?" The girl perked up in her seat, immediately freezing and turning to look at me. "Oh, uh, hi! I'm good! Fine! Fun!"

I shook my head with a slight smirk and Stuart rolled his eyes. "Great. Bitch and Nerdgasm power couple. That's exactly what we need."

"Nerdgasm's already a word, asshat," I shot. "You can't pretend you made it up for your own purposes for a poorly delivered slut joke. Kindly shut the fuck up and get back to work." He opened his mouth to argue, but I narrowed my eyes at him. "You can waste your time trying to annoy me, or you can attempt to get a job. Your choice."

"Oh, he's already made it very clear that he doesn't give a shit about winning," Neha said, glancing over at me as she continued her typing.

I pulled my own laptop out, flipping up the screen. "Doesn't surprise me. What else did I miss?"

"The old guys are even more useless than we originally thought, Neha's still a nymphomaniac, and Yo-Yo over there is actually a masochist," Stuart answered. "Oh, and you're still a bitch. In case you missed the memo."

"A masochist is someone who gets off on pain, not someone who hurts themselves as punishment, asshole," Neha said.

Stuart spun in his chair to face her, obviously preparing for battle. "I guess I should have known that you'd know all the specific terms for things people do to get off."

"Oh shove it, dickwad."

"See, there you go with the dicks again. I'd hate to see what the inside of your head looks like. Probably like some middle school bathroom with all the dick doodles and whatever."

"At least I have a mind to doodle on, instead some vast, empty desert with fucking tumbleweeds."

"Okay, if that's the best you've got this is really not going to be any fun at all."

"Great, then why don't you go home! Do us all a favor!"

"Might as well, cause it's not like I've really got much of a shot with you losers anyway."

Before either of them could say another word, both of their monitors went dead black. Their quips died in their throats as they both turned to the screens in horror.

"No, no, no, no, no! Don't do that!"

"Ah, come on. What the fuck?!"

"Well you two certainly weren't working, so they decided to turn off," I said with a shrug.

Stuart rounded on me. "Seriously, could you just stop fucking talking?! If they just crashed, then we lost all our progress, and we're done."

"Chill, it's just the screen," I replied, picking at my nails again. I flicked a couple keys on my laptop and their screens jumped back to life, all the information sitting exactly where they had left that.

"Wha…? How did you do that?" Neha asked, staring at her computer open mouthed.

Stuart glared. "I thought you said you didn't do code."

"One, eavesdropping is rude. Two, I don't. Most of the time. I know enough to serve my purposes. Like this." I tapped the keyboard again and the screens went dead.

Neha flailed her hands. "No! No, put it back!"

"Then stop fighting."

"Oh that's really helpful," Stuart spat. "Your just gonna keep us from doing our work. That'll really help us win."

"Maybe not. But it will help you learn to be civil and keep your trap shut. Which will help you win." I turned their screens back on, and Neha pulled an invisible zipper over her lips before getting back to work.

Stuart rolled his shoulders, turning back to his work with one last glower. "No one says 'trap' anymore, weirdo."

I promptly turned the screen off.

This went on for the next couple hours. Neha or Stuart would snap at each other, I'd turn their monitors off until they agreed to be silent, and we would repeat. I tried to turn off Yo-Yo's once, just to be fair, but he nearly ripped half his eyebrow off because he thought he'd done something wrong. I quickly flipped it back on and promised not to try that again.

Lyle had already come over to nervously inform me that disabling the screens was not exactly what he'd had in mind when he told me that I had to show up to work so I could deal with people. But I simply shrugged. If he wasn't going to do anything, this was the best guidance they were going to get. Harsh, unbiased discipline.

But despite the handicap of attitude, the team eventually found the audio bug. I left the screens alone after that, letting them fix the code and submit their work. Lyle, Neha and Yo-Yo all gathered around Stuart as he pulled up the competition results. I glanced over, but scrunched up my nose, deciding to stay in my place on the couch.

"So what's the dealio, mah man? Give us the big number, yo!"

"We came in twentieth. We're number twenty."

"W-Well that's—that doesn't sound too bad, right?" Neha said with a hopeful smile. "I mean how many teams are there?"

"Twenty," Yo-Yo informed her solemnly, reaching up to yank another hair from his eyebrow.

"Well, that was fun," I said, swinging my legs off the couch and closing my laptop. "Good work, everyone. How about lunch?"

"Good work?" Yo-Yo repeated incredulously. "We came in last place. How is that good work?"

I shrugged, swinging my bag up onto my shoulder. "You guys did the best you could. It's one challenge. Who cares?"

"I care!" Yo-Yo cried, then ripped another piece of his eyebrow off.

"Okay, guys, hold on. She's kinda right," Stuart interrupted, raising a hand. I didn't even bother being surprised or getting my hopes up before he spoke again. "I mean, we were kind of at a disadvantage. I'm sure the other teams didn't have to deal with their screens turning off in the middle of the challenge."

"Oh, your biggest disadvantage is your fucking mouth," I said, rolling my eyes. "But go ahead, blame me. It clearly doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you only had three teammates participating instead of five."

"Okay, but I don't think Billy and Nick would have been much help," Neha pointed out. "Even if they were here."

"Yeah," Stuart agreed. "Like, at all. In fact we probably would have lost even more abysmally."

"Whatever. It doesn't change the fact that you guys had less manpower. So you were doomed to lose either way. Whatever. We'll win something else. Now, wipe the pissy looks off your faces and let's get lunch."

I hopped to my feet and began walking away, leaving the rest of the group behind to scramble after me at their own paces. Unsurprisingly, Neha was right on my heels, quickly followed by Lyle and Yo-Yo. Stuart brought up the rear, his bag carelessly slung over one shoulder and his phone glued in his hand.

I led the way through the building to the cafeteria down on the first floor. It wasn't a place I generally tended to frequent. I'd never been a fan of huge crowds—at least, when I was sober—and tried to keep to the café as much as possible. I could always grab something small, bring something from home, or just drive a little ways off campus to get a slice of pizza. But with this much company, the cafeteria seemed like the best option. I wasn't even too surprised when I didn't even have to scrunch up my nose at questionable cafeteria food. Everything they had laid out was completely edible, even appetizing. I opted for a section of one of the club sandwiches they'd had catered for the day, snatching up a plate with potato chips and a water bottle on a tray before lowering my sunglasses and marching outside.

As the absolute last team to finish, we didn't exactly have our pick of tables. Most of them were already occupied by other teams, or established employees who had made the terrible decision to grab lunch at the same time the interning challenge was completed. Poor souls. Nonetheless, we managed to find a table that could just fit all of us, nestled under a bright blue umbrella in the middle of the crowd. I plopped down on the bench, dropping my bag behind me and nudging it under me. I didn't even bat an eye when Neha slid into the seat next to me, sending me a bright smile before copying my motions with her own purse. Yo-Yo sent me a wary look before choosing to sit on the opposite side of the table, and when Lyle came out, he chose the seat next to him. I narrowed my eyes at him, jerking my head toward the empty spot beside me. But if he noticed, he pretended that he hadn't. Part of me wondered if he was purposefully torturing me as punishment for showing up on time, but the rest of me said that he couldn't really be that vindictive.

Whether it was planned or not, Stuart eventually came to join us. He stood at the edge of the table for about ten seconds, just holding the tray in his hand and looking at the available seat with an open look of disgust, as if I'd vomited all over it in preparation for his arrival.

"Do you always eat standing up?" Neha asked.

He rolled his eyes and reluctantly dropped his tray on the table next to mine. He swung his backpack off and collapsed onto the bench, making sure to stay as far away from me as was physically possible. Then he took out his phone and buried his nose in it, apparently determined to distract himself from the seating arrangement by pretending that none of us existed.

That's what most of us seemed to be doing, actually. Lyle quickly prodded his tray to the side so he would work on his laptop. Yo-Yo kept his head hung so low that his chin actually seemed to be molding with his chest, and Neha kept glancing around the courtyard, picking at her nails and twirling her curls around her fingers.

"Well," I sighed, breaking the terribly awkward silence. "We're certainly the life of the party."

No one really responded except Neha, who chucked and turned slightly in her seat, taking the sentence as an invitation to start a conversation. "Speaking of parties, how was it last night?"

"Meh. It was decent. I've had better days."

"So you did go out last night," Lyle said accusingly.

I rolled my eyes. "Lyle, I'm a pretty, twenty-one year old girl who had a disgustingly shitty day. Yes I went out last night. Sue me."

Lyle shook his head, clearly not a fan of the logic. But Neha on the other hand couldn't have been more excited. "So what did you end up doing?"

"Eh. I went to a club, got a few drinks, danced for a bit, got somebody else to buy me a few drinks, and then I woke up about twenty minutes away in someone else's apartment."

For some reason, Neha looked almost in awe in at that. She kept her lips pressed together, but her eyes were slightly wide. "That sounds like a lot of fun."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "It's nothing all that spectacular, really."

"So that's why you two get along so well," Stuart said. "Girls who slut together stay together."

"And guys that slut shame generally end up using their hand," I countered. I didn't even bother to look at him. I just turned back to my lunch and popped a chip in my mouth.

"Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when you wake up with a raging STD."

"Oh, and what makes you think I'd ever allow you the privilege of hearing anything about my sex life?"

"Cause that's what girls like you do," he said, and I didn't miss the bitter laugh. "You go out, prowl on some pathetic guy who's too stupid to say no, and then he gets to wake up alone because you're out bragging to all your friends."

I raised my eyebrows, thoroughly unimpressed. "One, none of the guys I go home with have any expectations of finding me there in the morning. I'm not tricking some poor bastard who's out at the club looking for a wife and kids. I'm just looking for someone who wants something short, sweet and mutually beneficial." Stuart opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "Two, in case you missed the memo, I don't like most people. I don't have a little group of bitches to blab to. I have Lyle, and I have no intention of discussing the intimate details of my life with him. Because three, that's not the kind of person I am. You don't know a single fucking thing about me, so kindly shove your face back into your phone and shut up."

We glared at each other for a few seconds, but Stuart gave in first. He gave a feeble scoff and shook his head, then folded his arms on the table, looking around the wide courtyard for something more interesting that a lost argument.

I was too worked up to even smile in victory, though. I just glowered at him, chewing on the inside on my cheeks in an attempt to regain my composure. I'd done exactly what I said I wasn't going to do, of course. I'd snapped and given him a reaction. But it could have ended worse. At least I'd won this round.

Neha cleared her throat next to me, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "So was he cute?"

I smiled grudgingly. "Could have been cuter. Nice hair, nice body, bad morning breath."

She giggled and shook her head. "Man, I wish I could be that lucky."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "The Han Solo to your Leia isn't a hot piece of ass?"

Her eyes went wide and she sat up a little straighter. "No! I mean, uh, yeah, but… I—I just meant last night. Yeah, you know cause I was super tired and I had to unpack and stuff and I—I wish I had been lucky enough to go out…"

I watched her skeptically, but before I could ask anything, Stuart decided to interrupt the conversation again. But this time, it wasn't to annoy us.

"Hey, hey! You guys find Professor Xavier?"

We all looked up to see Billy and Nick making their way over to the table with their own lunch trays, both looking not just discouraged, but downright miserable.

"Yeah, we found him," Nick said with a nod.

"Yeah, thanks so much for that," Billy agreed. "That's uh…really great team spirit." He shot a look at Lyle, and I saw him beginning to literally shrivel up with guilt.

"Emily," Nick greeted. "Glad to see you could join us."

I lifted my water bottle in response. "Sorry. Hangover."

"An explanation that we're all too familiar with," Billy said with a grin. He lifted his tray slightly, gesturing to the large space that Stuart and I had constructed between us. "You mind sliding over here?"

I went to push my things to the side, but Stuart decided to take matters into his own hands. He slid over to me with a smug smile, pressing our sides together but leaving his legs wide enough apart to take up the whole bench.

"I'm sorry," Yo-Yo spoke up. "It really doesn't look like there's enough room for you."

Billy's smile fell, and Stuart winked at him. I promptly elbowed him hard in the ribs, hoping to leave a bruise. Judging by his hiss of pain, I might have been successful.

The two men considered us for a few more seconds before their shoulders slumped, and they shuffled away.

"Have a great lunch," Nick mumbled.

"Yeah enjoy it."

We watched them walk farther out into the courtyard, pausing in the middle of the bustle as they tried to find an open seat. But all they ended up doing was standing there, looking increasingly worried and confused.

I looked at them for a few more seconds before sighing, promptly standing up. "Okay, well that's enough of that."

"What?" Neha asked, sounding slightly alarmed. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to have lunch with them. They're not the ones who did anything wrong." I stepped over the bench, swinging my bag up onto my shoulder and picking up my tray once more.

"B-But I thought you said we were right," Neha continued. "If they stayed, they wouldn't have helped at all."

"Then you give them a time out or something. Bench them. You don't trick them into a fun little field trip."

Yo-Yo yanked another hair from his eyebrow. "We were just trying to…"

"Yeah, I know. You were just trying to win. And that's generally the kind of vicious ambition that I try and stay away from. So, have fun." I gave a curt wave and headed into the thick of the crowd, making my way towards Billy's head, high above everyone else. "Yo!"

They both jumped slightly, turning around so quickly that their drinks nearly fell off their trays. "Emily, hi."

"Come on," I urged. "I've got just the place." I brushed past them, heading toward the edge of the courtyard and trusting they would follow me.

"Uh, are you sure you don't want to have lunch with the rest of the team?" Nick asked from behind me.

"Yeah," Billy agreed. "I mean, if you guys are having fun then we wouldn't want to cause any trouble."

"Me? Having fun with people?" I laughed. "Seriously. Besides, I'm a co-manager. Someone's gotta keep an eye on you two."

I led them over to a table at the corner, currently occupied by a solitary figure in black. He was struggling to eat some yogurt with his right hand while his left flew over the keyboard. He looked almost dead to the world with his bulky, bright red headphones, but I sent him a fond smile as I took the seat next to him.

"Hey, Andrew."

There was a split second twitch of his lips, one that most people would have missed. But I'd spent enough time around him to know that it was a hidden greeting so he wouldn't have to discard his headphones façade in public.

I grinned up at Billy and Nick, who were hovering awkwardly at the edge of the table. "Come on, he won't mind. Have a seat."

They shared a hesitant glance before placing their trays on the table, Nick sitting on my right and Billy on his.

"How you doing, bud?" Billy tried to ask.

Predictably, Andrew chose not to answer. "

He doesn't even know we exist," Billy said, glancing over at his friend. "He's like some kind of a superhero on this computer. Look at him. He's just crunching his thing, kickin' ass."

I chuckled into my food. It was funny, of course, because Billy didn't know that Andrew was probably listening intently to every word he said, building an opinion of him without him having a single clue. But it was also nice. Not many people recognized Andrew by sight, and he liked to keep it that way. Just like me, he'd had more than his fair share of people sucking up to him because he ran Google Search. So he kept to himself and let people think he was just some fumbling employee who didn't like to talk to anyone. It got rid of the kissasses, but it meant that most of the time, if anyone paused long enough to think about something to say about him, it wasn't something good. It was nice to hear someone talk about him in a complimentary way for once, even without knowing who he really was.

"You remember what it felt like to be that good at something?" Billy asked Nick, who nodded silently.

"What exactly was it that you guys used to do?" I asked, popping another chip in my mouth.

"Sales," Nick explained. "A couple of different things here and there. Most recently watches. Sell in bulk to other companies who can have items on their shelves."

"Wow. Glamorous."

"Eh, maybe not. But it paid the bills," Billy said with a smile, then paused. "Kind of. It mostly paid the bills. Some of them at least. Most of the…time…"

"But we were good at it," Nick cut him off.

"Yes! We were good at it. You know? You do something for that long, you perfect. And maybe we're not perfect, but…we were pretty damn good."

"But then the company closed?" I asked. The smiles slipped off their faces again, and a fleeting feeling of guilt prickled in my chest.

"Yeah. Yeah, it did," Nick said. "All this new technology and whatnot. Made our old job kind of, I don't know, obsolete."

"But you're here," I offered. "Still trying."

"Not so much succeeding," Billy sighed. "As our teammates have made very clear."

"Meh, I wouldn't worry too much," I tried to console. "There'll be other challenges. And I think the intent was just to send you on a wild goose chase, not so much get you punched in the balls."

"Well, thank you, but…" Nick trailed off, screwing up his face. "Hang on, how did you know about—about that?"

"About you getting punched in the balls?" I repeated with a smirk. "You pulled your legs together when Stuart asked about Professor Xavier, and Billy said you found him, so you know… Lucky guess."

Nick quirked an eyebrow while Billy snickered, but before anyone could say anything another broke into the conversation.

"Look at this!"

I immediately cringed at the British accent. I barely had a moment to prepare myself before Graham sauntered up to us, his team trailing along behind him. "William! Nicholas!" He glanced over at Andrew, and I saw his nose scrunch up in distaste. "Person I don't know."

"Up yours, Hawtrey."

"Ah, Emily. Always charming to see you." He grinned, flattening the lapels on another one of his ridiculous blazers. "Though it does surprise me that you managed to squeeze yourself in at the cool kids' table. This looks truly exclusive, gentlemen. A confederacy of outcasts and a sympathetic lady."

"Graham, either shut your trap, or get to the goddamn point."

"Aw, patience, Emily. I just heard that the boys here had a nice day to Palo Alto? Home of Silicon Valley, and also the X-Men apparently." He patted Billy genially on the shoulder, who managed to keep his cool.

"Where are you going with this, Graham?" Nick asked.

"Oh, I just wanted to let you guys know—we won the bug challenge!" He straightened his sunglasses pretentiously as his team grinned behind him, smiling smugly. "What are you gonna do about it, boys?"

"I wouldn't worry if I was you about what we're gonna do, or what we're not gonna do," Billy said calmly. "We're gonna be just fine."

"You're gonna be fine?" Graham repeated doubtfully. "Alright. Just keep telling yourself that." He patted Billy on the shoulder again as he past, finally deciding to make his exit. "I'll see you all-stars on the intramurals fields for the next challenge I'll win. Miss Terrell, a pleasure as always. I look forward to our next meeting."

"Kill me!" I called as he walked away, but unfortunately, he just laughed.

"Much less amusing."

I glared at his back as it receded away from us, grinding my teeth and digging my nails into my palms, some attempt to keep myself in my chair and not go running off across the quad to strangle him with his lanyard.

"You know, you shouldn't let him get to you," Billy advised through a mouthful of sandwich. "It's just what he wants."

"Yeah, well it's not the only thing he wants," I grumbled.

The next bite of my sandwich was particularly ferocious, something that Billy and Nick both seemed to notice. They shared a dubious look and Nick quickly changed the subject.

"So! Sports! That's something we know about."

"Something we know a lot about," Billy agreed. "Let's do it buddy." They grinned, high fiving until they noticed that I was laughing.

"What?" Nick asked. "What is it?"

"Sorry," I said, still snickering. "I just… I don't think what you guys know is really gonna be enough."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, affronted. "I'll have you know that I used to be a part of a damn good baseball team."

"Yeah you were," Billy encouraged. "And if nothing else, my height means I play a mean game of basketball. Football, soccer, rugby. We got you covered girlie."

"Yeah, come on. Fill us in," Nick said, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward eagerly. "What do we have to play?"

"Um, I am not allowed to say. Not until they officially release it tomorrow. I'm not even sure how the stale English crumpet even managed to find out it was a sport." Billy and Nick chuckled, and I shrugged. "But, anyway, I highly doubt it's something you're gonna know." I smirked and shrugged.

Honestly I was kind of excited for the next day. Harry Potter was a huge thing for me, and I'd actually been really interested when I found out the interns would be playing Quidditch for one of the challenges. Of course, if I had my way, I would be observing the game from a large window inside, without any real interest as to who was gonna win. That, or on the field pelting people with kickballs and enjoying every second of it. Unfortunately, I would be doing neither of those things. I'd be confined to the sidelines, coaching and advising my team without actually being able to help. Fun.

"Oh come on," Billy begged. "Is it something foreign? Like cricket? Bao-taoshi? Octopush? Buzkashi? That'd probably be a little messy, actually…"

That's basically how we spent the rest of lunch. Billy or Nick would guess a sport I had never heard of, then go off to explain how you were supposed to play and how they had learned about it. It was actually kind of interesting. They never got anywhere near guessing Quidditch of course, and I hadn't expected them to, but they clearly knew a lot of other things. They might not have been able to help today, and they might not be able to help tomorrow, but for some reason, talking to them gave me a little hope. They seemed pretty determined, and not in the petty way I was used to encountering. They wanted to do well and win without necessarily tearing the others out of their way. And though it was dangerous, I could feel my guard slipping just ever so slightly. Maybe they wouldn't be so totally useless after all.

* * *

**A/N: Ah yes. There's a lot of snarky banter here that I like. Emily and Stuart are so fun to write. Anyway! This next chapter is up! And you know what that means? I GET TO WRITE QUIDDITCH SOON AND THIS PLEASES ME IMMENSELY. *ahem***

**Thank you so much to all of the people who have favorited and followed this story. I know it's kind of slim picking for The Internship, so I hope you like it! Thank you for all of the beautiful reviews I got on the last chapter, from emele807, Donaldina, Blazing-Melody, MessintheMirror, MS. QUEEN21, ScornedxRose, SimplyKelly, fight-before-flight, Valkyrie101, LakenAlexander, ItBelongsInAMuseum, XxXBeautifulXxXDreamerXxX, c-bellz, I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar, Guest, Damia88, AlexandriaDiAngelo, Lauren. C. Powell, Kira Tsumi, and FetusPosey3! **

**I adore hearing from you guys and I can't wait to hear what you thought of the new chapter. Thank you again!**

**-Brittney**


	4. Chapter 4

It was mornings like the next one that reminded me just how much my father loved me. Obviously he was always holding out hope that I was going to have a good day. But that day he was particularly determined to keep me from being in a bad mood. Maybe it was because that day actually had the potential to be not just not bad, but genuinely good. Great. Because that day the challenge was going to be something I actually knew about. Quidditch.

Dad had pulled out all the stops trying to make sure my day started off right. He'd snuck in while I was asleep again, this time to change my alarm to half an hour later than he'd originally told me he was going to wake me up. He'd snooped around my room until he found my iPod, and set it up on my alarm clock to avoid the grating buzzer that was usually my only hope of getting up. And when I woke up to the swelling chords of Hedwig's Theme, it was to find another steaming mug of coffee on my bedside table. I'd grinned as I pushed myself up without hitting snooze. I had to hand it to him. When he was good, he was good.

And he hadn't stopped with my magical wake up call. He'd gathered together as much of my stuff as he thought he could without me getting mad at him for touching my things. My laptop and phone were waiting charged in a bag full of my internship papers, next to the small boxes of supplies I'd gathered together the night before.

But the real kicker had been waiting for me on my desk chair. The last time he'd woken me up he'd admitted that he didn't know me well enough to pick out my clothes for me. But today nothing seemed to be keeping him from trying. He'd sifted through my closet until he found what he was looking for, folded the clothes up, and left them waiting for me at my desk with a note.

_"Just a hunch."_

And to his credit, his hunch had been correct. I was a little surprised that he'd thought of it. But not nearly as surprised as everyone else when I walked into headquarters.

"Morning, everyone!"

The team glanced over, offering greetings with varying degrees of enthusiasm—from Neha's bouncy "Morning, Emily!" to the warm smiles I got from Billy, Nick and Lyle, to the timid half wave Yo-Yo managed to muster, to the deadpan look of disgust and dread I received from Stuart. They turned back to what they'd previously been doing, and then half did a double take.

"Oh. My. God," Neha breathed, springing to her feet and rushing over to me. She circled me like a vulture, eyeing up the outfit. "Where did you get that?!"

I smirked, looking down at my Hogwarts uniform with pride. Charcoal knee highs, Mary Janes, pleated skirt, and a sweater vest and tie detailed with silver and emerald green, the Slytherin crest over my heart.

"Oh, it's been a work in progress. Collected it piece by piece over the years."

"It's—It's perfect!" she squealed. It was a little shrill, but not a shock. I'd walked in prepared for Neha to freak over a costume. "You could be like the perfect Pansy Parkinson. Movie Pansy! Obviously, I mean because you don't look like a pug, but I mean you can't be Milliscent Bulstrode so…"

"I was thinking more Astoria Greengrass," I said with a shrug.

Neha beamed. "That's amazing."

"Oh my God, calm down, will ya?" Stuart grumbled from the couch, eyes glued to his phone. "It's a stupid uniform. Who cares?"

"Oh, so you're not harboring any schoolgirl fantasies?" I shot, moving to middle of the group so I could drop the cardboard boxes I'd been carrying.

Stuart snorted. "No."

"Good. That's one less person I have to worry about leering at me."

"Um, Emily?" Lyle asked, edging over to me with a timid look. "I think it's great you're getting into the spirit and all, but d-did you bring a change of clothes? I thought we decided we were all gonna try to dress alike for, you know, team spirit." He tugged a little on his "What the Fett" shirt to emphasize his use of gym clothes, and I rolled my eyes.

"One, I'm not playing anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Two, I'm way ahead of you. I brought uniforms." I opened one of the cardboard boxes, pulling out one of the T-shirts inside—white with the word "Quidditch" spread on the front, printed in the Google font and colors.

Lyle practically squealed as he ripped the shirt out of my hands. "Aw, this is off the chains, yo!"

"Where did you even get these?" Neha asked, pulling out a shirt for herself. She handed it to Yo-Yo when she decided it was too big, then plucked out a smaller one, held it up to her frame and twirled.

I shrugged. "Meh, they're not great. I printed them off on T-shirt transfers last night and ironed them on. Nothing fancy."

"Wow, you designed these?" Billy asked, holding his shirt out in front of him and scrutinizing it with a smile. "That's great, Emily."

"If by 'great' you mean 'amateur crap'," Stuart grumbled. I promptly chucked his shirt into his face, smothering him.

"Well, I think they're awesome," Nick added, folding the garment over his arm with a charming smile. "So, what brought about the change of heart?"

I smirked, giving him a look saturated with disbelief and pity. "Oh, there's no change of heart. Just a fiery determination to properly execute anything that has to do with Harry Potter. Which brings me to box number two." I snaked my hand into the smaller box, sneaking out one of the items and hiding it in my hand. I beckoned Lyle over to me with a crooked finger, before looking around with a smile. "Everyone take off your shit excuses for sweatbands. I've got better ones." I tossed Lyle the item in my hands, chuckling when he gaped at the stretchy band of yellow fabric.

"Aw yes!" he cheered, strapping it on and twisting it until the emblem was centered over his forehead. "Hufflepuff, bitches!"

"You too, Yo-Yo," I said, grabbing the box and tossing the boy a sweatband. "Ravenclaw for Neha…"

"Thank you!" she sang, snatching it up and pulling her ponytail throw.

"Gryffindor for Billy and Nick. And then Stuart…" I shot the last sweatband at him like a rubber band, smirking when the piece of green fabric collided with his face.

"Wow, that's real nice. Really, thank you for that."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with Slytherin," I defended, tugging on my own matching sweatband and fluffing my hair. "You're just an asshole."

Yeah, and I can see that you're there because you're a bitch."

"Okay!" Lyle cheered, interrupting the argument before we could really get started. "It's getting pretty close to game time, so why don't we head down to the field and get changed and get pumped? Yeah? Yeah-ha! Alright! Let's go! Get ready to kick some Chudley Canon ass! Whoo!"

I rolled my eyes, moving to follow him just the same. But before I could take more than a few steps, Nick called me back.

"Uh, hey, Emily? Could we talk to you for a sec?"

"What's up?" I asked, falling into step between them at the back of the group as we headed out toward the intramural field.

"What—What are we doing?" Nick asked in a hushed voice. "What does this mean?"

"I can't even read this," Billy said, squinting down at his T-shirt. "What is this? Qua…? Qu-Qu… Qu-eye-du-eye-tach…?"

"Quidditch," I said quickly, "And please never say that again."

"Qu-Quidditch? Quidditch. Okay, Quidditch," Billy said, testing out the word on his tongue. "What the hell is Quidditch?"

"It's a sport. A wizarding sport."

"I'm sorry, wizards?" Nick asked, squinting at me in confusion.

"Yeah. It's from Harry Potter. Please, please tell me you know what Harry Potter is."

"Yeah, no, we got that," Billy assured me. "All over it. Weedy little boy with glasses, a wand and a scar. He plays sports?"

I had to bite my tongue very, very hard to stop myself from snapping. I had very little patience dealing with people on a normal level, but dealing with people who were completely clueless about something as famous as the international phenomenon that was Harry Potter? Even the thought of the conversation I was about to have made my muscles twitch.

"Yes, he plays a sport, Billy. He actually plays a sport very, very well."

"Okay, so what is it?" Nick asked.

"Well, normally teams have seven players, but our teams are playing with six. It's played on broomsticks in the air, so…"

"Woah, woah, woah. Broom? Air?" Billy asked with wide eyes. "Emily, I am not getting on a broom in the air."

"Yeah, no shit, Billy. We don't have flying broomsticks."

"Well I don't know that! I saw a car driving itself the other day, and frankly that scares the hell out of me."

"So if we're not flying, then why do the broomsticks matter?" Nick asked, waving his hand for the two of us to pipe down.

"You hold it," I explained.

"What? Just—Just like between your legs?"

"Yup."

"Why—Why would anyone do that?" Nick asked, shaking his head. "That just sounds…uncomfortable…"

"Oh it is," I agreed with a nod. "But it's an important part of the sport. It limits your coordination because you have to worry about holding the broom and handling the ball at the same time."

"So there's a ball?"

"Yeah, the Quaffle."

"I'm sorry, Quaffle?" Billy repeated. "L-Like, 'waffle' with a 'qu'? What is it with wizards and the letter q?"

I stared at him for a moment, and I'm fairly certain that one of my eyes actually twitched. There was just a moment of complete and utter disbelief, a second of calm before I felt the anger bubbling up in my chest. I clenched my jaw shut and forced myself to storm forward, distancing myself a few steps ahead of them. This was going to require some serious deep breathing exercises.

Billy and Nick seemed to sense my annoyance, since they lagged back to give me my space for the rest of the walk. But my irritation quickly started to ebb away as we arrived at the intramural field. My clenched jaw was traded for a wide smile as I looked around, practically twirling as I walked.

Everything had been set up beautifully. I knew that the court was going to be in good condition—neatly mowed field, new white lines, and the three hoops set up on either side. But they'd gone so far as to set up fabric pillars in house colors, lining the field in red, yellow, green and blue. There was a stand set up with a large sign reading "Quality Quidditch Supplies," where teams were lining up to pick up their broomsticks. Interns were sporting everything from matching T-shirts to matching wigs to define their teams, and I noticed I wasn't the only one in costume. Most of the wandering faculty members who weren't being forced to play had thrown on billowing black cloaks over their work clothes, including—to my extreme amusement—Mr. Chetty. I gave him a double thumbs-up as we walked by, earning myself a half-hearted glare from the grumpy man in his sweater vest.

Our first stop was by the restrooms so everyone could get changed into their new gear. I waited impatiently outside, now in charge of the empty bag that would hold everyone's T-shirts. I was seriously contemplating the possibility of "losing" Stuart's shirt just to watch him get upset, but thought better of it. It wasn't that I had any thoughts of feeling bad. It was one of my first rules of fighting—never make the first move. I wasn't going to leave myself open for an attack so early in the day. I wasn't stupid.

After everyone had changed and collected their brooms, we walked towards the field, heading to the line for the mandatory photo op. We were all supposed to have a picture of our team for some slideshow the editing departments put together at the end of every summer. Not something I was exactly excited in participating in.

Billy and Nick stepped up on either side of me once more, albeit more timid with their questions this time.

"So what exactly is the point of the game?" Billy asked, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

"The same as any game with a ball? Get it across the court and score goals, stop the other team from getting across the court to score goals."

"Okay but how exactly do you score?" Nick asked from my other side. "Do you weave, dunk, toss, kick, punch? Do _we_ have to jump through the hoops?"

"Look," I sighed. "Lyle's gonna explain everything later. For just… Just think about it like basketball, with a little bit of soccer. On brooms."

"Basket-soccer on brooms," Billy said, nodding fervently and sharing a look with Nick. "Okay. You got it?"

"Absolutely. Get it, got it, good. Great… Actually, hold on." Nick laid a hand on my shoulder as I tried to step away, giving me a hesitant look of pure confusion. "What the hell does this have to do with computers?"

"It doesn't."

"Then why are we playing, exactly?"

"It's not about your hand-eye coordination or anything," I said with a shrug. "It's about teamwork." As soon as the words left my mouth, I could feel the potential sentimentality in the air double, making me crinkle my nose in distaste. "Or whatever," I added, flicking my hair over my shoulder and stepping away from them. And to think, I'd been the one that brought the conversation into dangerous, emotional territory.

I remained silent for the rest of the wait, letting everyone go about their own business and sending out my best do-not-talk-to-me-or-I-will-bite vibes. When we finally made it up to the front of the queue, I stood to the side as the photographer ushered everyone into place for the photo—Billy and Nick in the middle in the back, since they were tallest, and Neha and Lyle each on one knee in front. I flicked at my fingernails, remaining as quiet as possible in the hopes that the photographer would forget about me. And that part of the plan worked. Until of course, Goliath remembered I was part of the team.

"Woah, woah, hang on," Billy called after just one picture. "Emily, you're on the team too. Come on, get in here."

"I'm not really a team picture kind of girl," I replied, my nose scrunching up again as I shook my head.

"I'm sure you're miles more photogenic than the rest of us," Nick said with his signature grin. "Now come on, put us all to shame." He and Billy stepped apart a little bit, making room for me in the center of the picture.

I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Well I know so," Billy countered. "Come here, Emmy. Just a few pictures."

I ground my teeth together, huffing as I slunk towards the group. "Just don't call me Emmy," I grumbled as I turned to face the cameraman.

"Well thank you very much for humoring us, Emily," Nick said, patting me on the shoulder before wrapping his arm around Billy.

I pursed my lips and took another deep breath. _"Just trying to be nice," _I thought to myself. _"Not trying to get anything from you, not trying to make your life a living hell. Just trying to be nice." _I managed to force a smile on my face for at least one of the pictures that followed, but it would've been a miracle if there were one happy picture of all of us in the bunch.

After the photographer decided we'd been sufficiently tortured, we were ushered off the field to wait. There would be ten games going on that day, and each of the winning teams would get a point towards their overall summer score. Nine of those games were scheduled before ours. I had a sneaking suspicion that my father might have pulled a couple strings so our team would play latest in the day, just in case I decided to mysteriously go missing until the afternoon, as I had the day previously. But I didn't really mind. Playing last meant, at the very least, Lyle might have more time to try to explain to Billy and Nick how they were supposed to play. I'd been hoping that they could watch a few games, but that thought had quickly been shot down. For some ridiculous reason, waiting athletes were being corralled and kept far away from the field. The official reason had been something about making sure everyone was safe, that no one tried to sabotage another team or rig the game. For that, they needed to be kept away from the referee, and away from the sport equipment. They were also to be under close supervision so they couldn't mess with each other or start any fights that might cause injuries. And even though that set us back a little bit, I couldn't bring myself to argue.

No, the order was not what I was upset about. What was pissing me off was that we had somehow managed to be scheduled against Graham and his team. They had all shown up in matching blue uniforms, complete with face guards. It was annoying, it was pretentious, and it made them look really professional. Any hope I'd had of getting the consolation of watching Graham High-Horse Hawtrey lose miserably was lost the moment I saw the line up. I had zero expectations that our team was going to win, or even play well at all. Not the way I'd seen Lyle play sports, or the way Yo-Yo flinched even if someone tried to wave at him, or the way Stuart was always buried in his phone. Billy and Nick didn't have the slightest clue what they were supposed to do, and even if they managed to figure it out by the time the game started, there was not telling how poorly they would do against a team of twenty year-olds. I had a feeling that Neha could be pretty good, but she wouldn't be able to pick up all the slack. Not with the way Hawtrey's team looked.

And so, I spent the next few hours watching the games from the sidelines alone, and mentally preparing myself for the epic failure we were about to engage it. I didn't want to see Graham win, and I didn't want to be associated with a team that lost so abysmally at something I myself was pretty good at. So I sulked as game after game unfolded in front of me, glowering at anyone who bothered to look my way. I wasn't allowed to do much with the challenge. It was all up to Lyle.

When it was finally time for the last game, the teams ran out from opposite ends of the field. I rolled my eyes at Graham's team's matching uniforms once more, and jogged to the other side, where Billy and Nick were leading the charge onto the field, broomsticks clenched tightly in their hands. I was allowed to join the team on the field. I was only supposed to be present for the beginning huddle and during time-outs, but still, I guess it was better than nothing.

We formed a circle in the center of the field, with Sid on my left, geared to ref the game, and Lyle and the rest of the group on my right. Another smirk crept up onto my face as I eyes Chetty's cloak, which predictably earned me another glare. Which I, in turn, predictably ignored.

"Alright, teams. Welcome to the Quidditch pitch. Let's have a good, clean match, Nooglers." Sid blew his whistle, waving us off to our respective sides for a huddle before the game could begin.

Graham made sure to catch my eye as he backed away, holding out his arms in a manner that I assumed was supposed to be impressive. "Good luck, Emily. Certainly looks like your team will need it."

"Yeah, and all those brightly colored blazers certainly make it look like you're batting for the other team, but you don't see me jumping to conclusions."

"Miss Terrell," Chetty said in a warning tone.

I forced a polite smile back on my face. "What? Just some run of the mill intimidation tactics."

I glowered at Graham, but he just smirked, bowing slightly to me before he jogged back to his team. I could only glare after him, tugging slightly on my sweatband before I followed his lead, running back to our side of the field, where Lyle was waiting to start the huddle.

"Okay, rules," he said as I took my place between him and Yo-Yo. "The Beaters toss the Bludgers at the Chasers before they can get the Quaffle through the three rings. No blagging, no blatching, no bumphing, no haversacking. I don't want to see any Quaffle pocking. No Imperius curses, no Confundus charms. In the unlikely event of a Dementor attack, use a Patronus charm. I recommend the stag, but that's a personal decision."

"Lyle," I cut him off. "Lyle. Why—Why are you doing this now?"

"What do you mean? Doing what?"

"Explaining the rules! What have you been doing for the past couple hours?!"

"We… We were stretching," he explained, suddenly looking very nervous.

I glared at him, nails digging into the palms of my hands. "Lyle, not everyone knows how to play this, okay?! Okay?! This morning, Billy and Nick didn't even know what Harry Potter was!"

"Hey, um, yes—yes we did," Billy objected, raising a hand and looking at Nick, who was still scratching his head in confusion. "I thought we did a pretty good job with…"

"Sh!" I silenced him, throwing up a finger before glowering at Lyle. "Go again. Simpler."

"Uh…um, okay… The Chasers have to try and get the Quaffle into the scoring zone…"

"Lyle," Neha cut him off. "These beautiful idiots still have no idea what you're talking about. Use your muggle words. Come on."

"Come on, Lyle, you're making me feel like I'm back in math class," Nick complained. "You've got a couple of savants here with eye-hand coordination. Just say 'game on' and let us play!"

"Fair enough," he agreed with a firm nod. "Version 2.0: peg them with the kick balls before they throw the volleyball through the hoop."

"Great," Billy said with a nod. "Now—Now what was all of that blagger, batching, bungee stuff?"

Lyle practically beamed. "Oh! Well blagging is when a Chaser…"

I let out a strangled noise of frustration and threw my hands into the air. "Don't grab anyone else's broom. Don't tackle anyone. Don't throw the kick balls at spectators. Don't have your hand on the volleyball when it goes through the hoop. Don't try and alter the volleyball in any way. Got it? Great."

"Yes, absolutely. You betcha," Billy agreed as everyone in the group nodded with varying degrees of understanding.

"No, wait. You—You speak Quidditch?" Stuart asked, screwing up his face in some mixture of anger and confusion.

"Yeah. Surprise. I speak Quidditch."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"It's a direct translation," Lyle confirmed with a small grin.

"_You_?"

The haughty disbelief in his voice was the only thing necessary to set me off. I squared off my shoulders, crossing my arms over my chest and prepping for battle. But before I could even open my mouth, the whistle blew.

"Line it up, teams!" Sid yelled.

"Okay, brooms in, people," Lyle ordered, waving the bristles between Stuart and I in an effort to break the tension. Everyone fumbled to comply, and after a commanding look from Lyle, I reluctantly placed my hand on top of the pile. "Hufflepuff on three."

"Bite me," I murmured, and Lyle elbowed my side.

"One, two, three. Hufflepuff! Yeah, son! Yeah! Let's get it!"

I rolled my eyes and retreated back to the sidelines, making sure to ram Stuart's shoulder on the way. I hadn't had time for a verbal response, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to defend myself. Being underestimated and reduced to a stereotype was not something I took lightly.

The teams lined up in front of the hoops, crouching down in a ready position. There was a yell from either end, and I held my breath. Sid called for everyone to lift their brooms, and the fun began.

Only the massacre that followed was anything but fun. Less than sixty seconds into the game, Graham's team had already won their first goal. Lyle threw the ball back into play, and hardly a few minutes later, the volleyball was sailing through the hoops once more. Even when we managed to get down to the other end of the field, we were only in possession for a minute or so before the ball was intercepted and flown to the other end of the field. They scored goal after goal. Billy was trying to whack people with his broom. Yo-Yo was getting pelted with kick balls when he was standing yards out of the way. Neha and Lyle were too fast, Billy and Nick were too slow. And Stuart had decided that he'd probably benefit more by playing on his phone than actually participating on the field. It wasn't just a disaster. I screamed and yelled from the sidelines, running up and down the field with the ball. But no one was listening, either because they were too confused to understand, or too fed up to care. It was an absolute blood bath.

After a particularly harsh round that involved Graham pegging Billy in the face, and ended with another ten points for the blue team, I shouted for Billy from the sidelines. He caught my distressed look and nodded his agreement, shouting for a time out before I even asked. I was running onto the field before the whistle had even touched Sid's lips.

"You guys are seriously making me regret not taking a job at McDonalds," I complained as I elbowed my way between Lyle and Yo-Yo once more.

"Hey, none of that," Billy said, brandishing his finger at me and giving me a stern look.

"It's over," Neha sighed as she shook her head.

Stuart tugged his sweatband off, beating it against his leg in frustration. "Yeah. Our team is a joke."

"Well I ain't laughing," Nick said and wiped a hand over his face. "What about you, Billy?"

"Hell no."

"Listen, we need to get our minds right and start believing."

"This reminds me of a little girl who had to get her head right and start believing," Billy said with a nod. "A little girl from a steel town who had the dream to dance. No one believed in that little welder girl, but thank God she believed in herself."

The majority of us exchanged dubious looks, momentarily united in complete and utter confusion. Surprisingly, it was Stuart who spoke up.

"Are you talking about _Flashdance_? The movie from the 80's?"

"Yeah, you're damn right I am! That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Got it," Stuart groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

I raised my eyebrows pointedly at Billy, hoping above all hope that there was a point to this, because I did not like being on the same side as Stuart for once.

"The deck was stacked against Alex. And you know how she overcame those odds? By believing in herself and trying. She literally had to become a maniac!"

"Have any of you ever been called a maniac?" Nick asked. "Maybe because you were a little bit different?"

I shared another look with Neha, Lyle and Stuart. I'd been called plenty of names for being "different"—bitch, slut, whore, et cetera—but it didn't look like any of us were up for the heartfelt sharing session.

"My mom calls me a maniac every night when I tell her I love her," Yo-Yo confessed after a few seconds.

"Of course she does, Yo-Yo," Nick urged. "You are a little bit—in a good way!" I raised my eyebrows as Yo-Yo nodded, but it seemed that Nick was on a roll. "Well, guess what? That old Bill Gates? They called him a maniac too."

"No question," Billy agreed.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone ever called him a maniac," Neha argued, shaking her head so that her ponytail swung defiantly behind her.

"I just called him a maniac!"

"Okay, damn it guys, you guys are getting off the point here!" Billy yelled, waving his friend down. "She had to strip down to nothing. She had to sit in that chair and arch her back and she pulled a chain to nowhere and doused herself with water!"

"Yeah, where did that water come from?" Nick asked.

"Who knows?"

"Who cares?" I grumbled, and Stuart snorted across from me.

"It came from her belief that is was there!" Nick cheered, ignoring my jab.

"She believed so hard, she found herself with an audition in front of those stuffed shirts at the dance school. And she spun. Oh, and she spun. And she spun and she spun and she spun, and she spun herself into that dance school. And she spun herself into our hearts."

I couldn't help the slight smile that managed to crawl onto my face during Billy's speech. Mostly, I told myself that it was because the whole thing was hilarious. The men were ridiculous. The point was irrelevant. The reference was absurd. But they were still trying, and continued to not lose hope. In a way it was…I wanted to say "inspiring," but that was entirely too Hallmark, even for my own subconscious, so I let the thought trail off.

"Now. In the second half of whatever the hell you guys call this game…"

"Quidditch," I piped.

"Emily," Nick said in a warning tone, and I quickly dropped my head.

"Sorry."

But Billy didn't seem to be fazed by the interruption. "Can't we all be that little welder girl who wants to be something more?" There was a smattering of nods as we exchanged glances again, urging him to continue. "Now, look. I know you guys aren't excited that we're on your team. But we're here. Guys, we're in this thing together. So, I'm asking you. Believe in yourselves, believe in each other. Let's put on our leg warmers, and let's dance our asses off."

I rolled my eyes, my small grin turning into a smirk as Nick beckoned us into a closer huddle.

"Come here, you little loveable maniacs. Get in here."

"Alright," Billy began, suddenly all business. "Now, I got an idea that I think would make Bear Bryant smile."

"No idea who that is, but we're listening," Neha said, making Billy grin.

"Okay. Now Emily, you were right before. This isn't just about the game. This is about teamwork. This is about playing to our strengths. So, as our sideline eyes, what do you think we're working with?"

The sudden shift of attention caught me a little off guard, but I was quick to shift into command mode. "Okay. Well, Billy, Nick, you've obviously got the height advantage, sheer mass, and experience. If you learned any tricks in basketball or football, now's the time to break those out. Lyle and Neha are fast, good at weaving, but unless you two stay close to each other it's not gonna matter. We can't keep trying to chuck the ball halfway across the field. They're just gonna intercept it. Yo-Yo, your best advantage right now is probably the fact that you haven't gotten the chance to do much. No offense."

"None taken," he sighed.

"But for the most part, they don't seem bothered to guard you. That means you're always open, a good middle man if you don't see anyone nearby. Also, you gotta start picking up the kick balls. If they throw it at you and you get pegged, it's okay. You recover, you grab the ball, and you peg them right back."

Yo-Yo nodded in understanding as Nick clapped his hands together. "Alright! Progress! What about Stuart?"

I pressed my lips into a tight smile, glancing over to the boy in question. "Hm. Not sure. You could try playing Quidditch instead of playing Tetris on your phone." Stuart's look of determination quickly deteriorated into a glare, and my grin widened.

"Em," Lyle warned quietly.

"You could at least try to put it to some good use and blind someone."

"Emily," Nick interrupted. "We're trying to be constructive now. This is constructive criticism time."

"Sorry," I said with a shrug. "I haven't seen him do anything the whole game except play on his phone, trip over his own feet, and get pegged in the face."

"Oh, cause you'd do so much better," he growled.

"Actually, yeah. I'm at least twenty times better at this than you are."

"Prove it."

"Unfortunately I can't do that. Were it within my power to take the place of the most useless player, I would have benched you thirty seconds in."

"I'm not useless." He actually took a menacing step toward me, and his hands tightened on his broomstick until the tendons stood out on the backs of his hands.

But all that earned him was an even bigger smile. I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at him. "_You_?" I asked, echoing his jab from before. "Prove it."

"Okay, so we're gonna have to work on this whole team spirit thing," Billy observed, placing a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back from the middle of the circle. "That's okay. You know, baby steps. But let's just focus on this game for now, okay? Now when we jump back in, we're gonna have to start from the center again, right? I'm gonna go long and intercept. Stay close to each other, stay alert. You gotta call each other out before you pass so everyone's ready. Stuart, you and I are gonna take turns hanging back by the goal, stop them from getting any more points. Let's all try and stay positive, stay focused, and keep the good bits of advice in mind, okay? Emily, you're alert on the sidelines. Eyes open, and call it as you see it, got it?"

We all nodded, but I tried not to get too hopeful. It felt nice to have a plan, but making the plan and executing it were two completely different things. We could talk all we wanted to and still not get anywhere against Graham's team. Sure, the challenge was supposedly about teamwork, but it still wouldn't amount to shit if we couldn't pass and catch effectively.

Two short blasts from Sid's whistle eventually sent me off the field, back to pacing the sidelines while watching the field like a hawk. The teams split and crouched down once more, poised to run with broom tips on the ground. The whistle blew once more, and the players sprinted toward each other.

True to his word, Billy shot right past the volleyball, headed into the thick of the blue team to intercept a pass. He smacked it to Stuart, who passed it to Neha, who weaved and passed it to Lyle. He tossed it through the air for Nick to catch, who then threw it up high, where Billy smacked it down through the tallest hoop.

The team and the spectators burst into surprised cheers, and I clapped along with an astonished smile. Well, if worst came to worst, we'd scored at least once. That was something of a comfort.

Stuart ran past me, raising two fingers to his eyes before flipping them to point at me and back again. His face was set back into a mask of determination, and he raised his eyebrows at me pointedly.

I rolled my eyes, mirroring the gesture back to him with a slight smirk. I hadn't really thought about what I'd said to Stuart beyond the retaliation. I definitely hadn't been planning to motivate him by challenging to prove himself. But if that's all it took to get him to put the phone away and score a few points, I wasn't going to complain about the result. And I'd put up with the smug looks every time he managed to do something right.

That one goal was the spark that the team needed. Suddenly the tides began to turn. Stuart actually used the glare on his screen to distract the Keeper, allowing Nick to sprint right past her and score. Lyle managed to dig deep down and find some sort of athletic talent in himself that I'd never seen. He slid across the field and kicked the ball to Yo-Yo, who was wide open. And instead of catching it, he proceeded to spin on the spot, using the broom to bat the ball to Neha, who sunk the shot without a problem.

I was so caught up in the sudden energy that I actually forgot to stop myself from cheering wildly when Stuart blocked a shot at our goals. To his credit, the boy could jump. I'd just about resigned myself to the thought that the blue team would be scoring again when he ran in out of nowhere, launching himself into air and knocking the ball away with an almighty slap. I'd thrown my arms into the air and let out a loud whoop before I could stop myself, and clapped my hands over my mouth as soon as I'd realized what I'd done. Unfortunately, the damage had been done.

Stuart shot me a cocky, shit-eating grin, pausing to throw his hands out to the sides. I rolled my eyes and turned to more interesting parts of the game, where Neha was darting between players and letting them collide in her wake.

The game continued with us winning by storm. Stuart scored the next two goals, which were admittedly spectacular, but were horrendously outshined by Yo-Yo. Somehow, he'd gathered up the courage to take my advice about the kick balls. One of the blue boys tried to peg him for the fun of it, but Yo-Yo quickly recovered the ball and hurled it, wailing Graham in the back of the head so hard, that he actually tripped. Of course, Yo-Yo looked so frightened he could shit himself at that point, but it was totally worth it in my opinion. He was getting increasingly worked up, and was too frustrated to bother hiding it. Nick scored, Neha scored again, and suddenly we were tied.

Graham's yells were drowned out by music, blasting from the sidelines as the crowd parted for the most important player of the game—the Golden Snitch. If I hadn't already seen the Snitch uniform nine times earlier that day, I would have thrown my hands up and walked away. Poor Andy Schneider, from some obscure corner of a tech department, had been roped into gold spandex suit, yellow tail and ball hanging from his ass. I sincerely hoped that he was getting a generous bonus, because he was not a very good dancer, and that spandex was unforgiving and cruel.

Lyle let out a momentous yell over the music, eyes wide with excitement as he pointed at Andy, as if every eye in the arena wasn't already glued to him. "It's the Golden Snitch!"

The only reason I was able to forgive Lyle for forgetting to explain about the function of the Snitch earlier was because of gorgeous, unforgettable looks of complete bafflement on Billy and Nick's faces. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth as Lyle quickly explained the situation, and a few seconds later, Billy and Nick were off, racing against Graham as Andy ran for his life.

"Oh my God, go!" I screeched, jumping up and down as I ran down the sidelines, keeping pace with Billy and Nick. "Run faster! Go, go, go!"

But something was wrong. Only half the crowd seemed to be watching the game. I whipped my head back and forth, trying to watch the game and find the cause of all the muttering and excited chatter. But it was too hard to do both at once. I had to focus on the game.

As it turned out, there wasn't a lot of the game left. For the first few seconds, Billy and Nick had the lead, but Graham was gaining on them fast. He grabbed Nick by the shoulder and threw him to the ground, and despite on my yelling nobody stopped him. It was only a few seconds before he caught up to Billy, yanking on his broomtail and sending the man careening to the ground. There was a collective groan from the audience as they shared in his pain for a moment, but the next second any consideration for his suffering was gone.

The sound morphed into a deafening cheer as Graham jumped to his feet, brandishing his arms in the air, the Snitch's tail gripped tightly in his hand. His team rushed him with cries of joy, hoisting him into the air on their shoulders where he continued to scream in pride.

I looked on in disgust for just a second before my anger boiled over. I pushed my way through the crowd that was rushing onto the field, all jabbering away excitedly now that the last game was over. I had to elbow someone out of the way to get there, but I finally made it over to Sid and Billy, who looked like he currently had a very, _very_ debilitating limp.

"You can't be serious! That bitch just snaked me! That's gotta be illegal!"

"It is illegal," I agreed, jumping into the conversation with my arms crossed over my chest. "It's very illegal."

"I'm sorry, guys," Sid said with a slightly bewildered shrug. "If I didn't see it, I can't call it."

Billy sighed, evidently disappointed but ready to let it go. Sid wasn't going to change his mind, and yelling at the referee after the game was over wasn't going to solve anyone's problems.

Unfortunately, I was not nearly as forgiving. "What do you mean you didn't see it?! You ae the referee, Sid! It's your job to see it!"

"I'm sorry, Em! There was a blue man down. I had to check on him."

"Oh? A man down? Do any of them look down, Sid?!"

I gestured wildly behind me, where the blue team was still carrying Graham in the air, all of them jumping up and down. One boy was admittedly grabbing at his stomach, but it didn't seem to wipe the celebratory smile from his face.

"Emily, I know your disappointed, but I can't do anything."

"Call it into question or something! That was textbook blagging! Grabbing another player's broom with the intent to hinder or slow down! And that's on top of assault, since he practically rammed the handle up Billy's balls!"

"Ow, no," Billy winced, shaking his head and glancing down at me. "Let's—Let's keep the talk of Billy's balls down to a minimum."

I rolled my eyes but rounded back to Sid. "Come on! Everyone saw it! I saw it!"

"And you, Miss Terrell, are a biased spectator," Mr. Chetty said, calmly wandering over to us with his hands clasped in front of him.

I glared at him incredulously. "Biased? What are you talking about? I'm not biased. I hate my team!"

"But you do not hate winning. And it hasn't escaped my notice that you do seem to harbor a bit of dislike for Mr. Hawtrey."

"Of course I'm harboring some dislike for Mr. Hawtrey," I snorted. "He's a fucking douchebag."

"Business language, Miss Terrell."

"He's a fucking douchebag, _sir_."

Billy cleared his throat, clapping a hand on my shoulder and pulling me away before I could really get myself into trouble. "Okay, that's—that's enough of that. Come on, Firecracker." He tugged me over to where our team was converging in the middle of the field, all looking more forlorn than they even had during the time out.

Yo-Yo let out a strangled cry and threw him broom to the ground, and Billy quickly released me to wave a warning hand. "Don't start that, Yo-Yo. You did your best out there today."

"What'd the ref say?" Nick asked, wandering up on my other side.

"No go," I said, bitterness dripping off every word. "Apparently I'm biased so my word doesn't count for shit."

"Well maybe we didn't win the game," Billy said, patting me on the shoulder once more before brandishing a finger at the rest of the team. "But I'll tell you what we did do. That's the first time we all came together as a team."

"Goddamnit, Billy's right," Nick agreed, walking down the line of college students to pat everyone on the shoulder. "Just keep it rolling, keep it rolling. Come on, let's get a frosty."

Everyone nodded gloomily, and Lyle bounced a bit, clapping his hands together and trying to build up some of his usual pep. "Alright, alright, alright! Heya! Sweet tooth fo' a pretty sweet game, yeah? Florean Fortescue's for 'errybody!"

Neha followed his lead, shouldering her broom in a practiced way and plastering a smile on her face. She shook herself out, ponytail bobbing back and forth as she tried to shake off the bad mood for the moment, and marched off the field.

She and Lyle lead the way over to drop off their brooms, then back to headquarters so everyone could get changed and disperse. We all followed, but I lagged behind the group, angrily spinning the bag of T-shirts in my hand, twisting it until the handles nearly cut off the circulation in my fingers and then watching it twirl wildly until it had wound itself up again. I hated losing, and was not in the mood to carry on any sort of civilized conversation. That must have been obvious, since a few minutes later, I finally noticed the beat up pair of black sneakers that had fallen into step beside me.

"So, I'm ready to accept a verbal apology, but to be honest, I'd prefer it in writing."

"I'm sorry, what exactly gives you the impression you're getting an apology?" I asked.

"Um, the fact that you were wrong?" Stuart suggested with a smirk, throwing me an incredulous side glance. "You called me useless. I showed I'm not."

"Not useful enough to win," I said with a shrug.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as his hands balled up into fists, like he was momentarily considering punching me instead of trying to argue. "Bullshit. That was Nick and Billy's fault."

"Well I didn't see you running for the Snitch when it came down to it."

"In case you didn't notice, they didn't score a single point the second half of the game, and that's cause I blocked every single shot. I scored like half of our points and…!"

"Twenty nine percent."

Stuart faltered in his step, doing a double take. "What?"

"Billy scored once, Nick scored twice and Neha scored twice. We only had seventy points, which means you only scored twice which, by the way, means you didn't do any better than anyone else."

"Okay, are you fucking serious right now?"

I shrugged with an innocent pout on my face. "I'm prepared to give you thirty percent if you're desperate enough to use significant figures."

"It doesn't matter," he growled. "You said I was useless, and you were wrong. Actually, I fucking kicked ass which, _by the way_, I saw you cheering about, so you can stop pretending." He managed to calm himself down enough to shoot me with a self-satisfied smirk, and I actually felt my stomach twist a bit.

"I only said that I thought you were the most useless. And that wasn't even the major point. So it doesn't matter whether or not you made an amazing save."

"Ha!" he cheered, throwing his head back and letting a viciously cocky smile claim his face. "So I was right!"

"Excuse me? Right about what?"

"You just said that I made an amazing save. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure 'amazing' and 'useless' are pretty different."

"I said that it wouldn't have mattered whether or not you were amazing," I corrected, but he continued to sneer at me.

"Which in turn implies that you thought I was amazing."

I pursed my lips for a moment, regaining control of myself before I slipped in my rush to make a comeback. I wasn't losing another argument with that jackass. "What it implies is that no matter how well you do, there's always going to be someone who could do better. And in this case? That someone is me."

"You see, you keep saying that, but I don't exactly see you, uh rearing to prove yourself. I mean, no offense, but you don't exactly look like you'd be that exceptional at athletics… Actually, yeah I meant offense."

"And you didn't think I looked like I'd know the fouls of Quidditch either. But I can explain cobbing, blurting, stooging and flacking to you right here, right now."

That seemed to be enough to hold him off for a few minutes. He held his silence, glancing at me moodily every couple of seconds but apparently unable to come up with a good enough argument to merit speaking. Unfortunately, Stuart was just as determined as I was to never lose a fight.

"Okay, fine," he conceded as we finally reached the fourth floor once more. "So if you're that talented, why don't you show me?"

That actually made me pause. I slowed my walk to a stand still, turning on the spot to look at him with amusement. "Oh really? So now you want to see my talents?"

He rolled his eyes at my tone, but held his ground. "Well, if you're as good as you say you are, what have you got to lose?"

"Only a substantial amount of my free time that could be put to better use than spending more time with you."

"You sure that's it?" he challenged. "Cause it sounds like you just don't want to get shown up. Maybe you're not as good as you're saying you are. In fact, I'm positive you're not as good as you're saying you are."

"Well then, I guess it's a good thing that I don't give a fuck what you think about me."

"Psh, guess so," he scoffed with a smirk. "Because you know what? I think you're just another bitch who's all bark and no bite."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I said with a smile. I took a few steps forward to push the bag of T-shirts into Stuart's chest, letting my eyes dart over his pale face. My grin widened as I saw his smirk tighten, seeming more and more forced the closer I dared get to his face. "Oh, and by the way?" I added quietly, raising my eyebrows. "If you're a good boy, I bite plenty." I shoved him back a step, chuckling as he fumed and shook himself off. But for the moment, I seemed to have left him without words.

I quickly turned on my heels strutting over to the place where Lyle, Neha, and Yo-Yo were trying once again to explain the real game of Quidditch to Billy and Nick. I jumped right into the conversation, satisfied to see Stuart collapse moodily onto the couch instead of joining us in the discussion.

Emily Terrell: 1

Stuart Twombly: 0

* * *

**A/N: Well that took forever. But I took it and it's done. Huzzah! I think I most enjoyed the Quidditch research I did for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed all the HP reference I tried to stick in there, and I hope you're enjoying the rising tension and snark. Huzzah.**

**A big ol' thank you and welcome to all of the new readers, favoriters, and followers. And my eternal gratitude for reviews goes out to c-bellz, SimplyKelly, ScornedxRose, MS. QUEEN21, Valkyrie101, Starr Rose, Donaldina, Blazing-Melody, Lauren C. Powell, suttonsays, Tardis.11Blue, Sonny13, xxxanniexx, Aurora Abbot, charisma26, MessintheMirror, and Guest! I'm so excited that you guys are enjoying it.**

**Also, as you might have noticed, there's only one challenge left before I have to go completely off script. So now would be a good time to start leaving any ideas you have for challenges. I have a few, things from my head or that I thought of from behind the scenes pictures. But I'm always open to ideas, so if you have one lemme know! I can't guarantee anything, but I will try my hardest. **

**Anyway, that about wraps it up for today. Thank so you much, and I'm so excited to hear what you guys have to say! Mwah!**

**-Brittney**


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